


Prickly Business

by CinnamonQuartz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cabin Sex, Complete, Cunnilingus, Deep Diving Saves The Day!!!, Did I mention the dragon?, Dragons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Endless snogging, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Near Death Experiences, Oral Sex, Scottish Highlands, Steamy, intimate sex, mentions of rape/noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25965622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonQuartz/pseuds/CinnamonQuartz
Summary: She’s a Wound Maven. She knew exactly how to knit nerves back together. How to connect them to tissue, how to heal skin and muscle, regenerate and grow organs and bones, how to treat and replace blood. She’d put up with and handled a lot in her 14 years as a Healer. But she did not know how to handle Ron Weasley kissing her.
Relationships: Susan Bones/Ron Weasley
Comments: 19
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit from this piece of writing.

Susan Bones hated a lot of things about her job. Like the long hours and her overbearing boss. She hated how Smyth Murray dropped by on random week nights with some made up illness so he could get a pain-relieving potion—one she charged for every time. She really hated when parents brought their kids in and tried to tell her that little Alice or little Timmy had fallen down the stairs and that’s why they had bruises of various ages in various places.

Working at the hospital was a political minefield on some days, an emotional one on others. Often it was satisfying, if exhausting, work that made it easier to get up in the mornings. And other times… well let’s just say she was late to shift on those mornings.

Mostly she hated that she achieved her dream of one day being a Healer, and the person who made sure that could happen wasn’t around to see it any more.

Today, she hated when her old school buddy, Ron Weasley, who was presumed dead for near three weeks, was dragged into the front room surrounded by a haggard group of friends and redheaded Weasley’s. How he wasn’t dead, Susan didn’t know.

Normally she would have found a quiet room for her to work in. The bottom floor of the hospital was equipped with several such rooms for immediate, emergency healing that needed getting done as soon as possible. But in Ron’s case, she didn’t bother despite their nearness. He needed attention, and by her initial guess, he was seconds away from death.

She simply pushed her long red hair over her shoulder and instructed the nearest Healer’s Aide to summon a stretcher. Two tall redheaded men she would later come to realize were Ron’s brothers laid his battered body in front of the receptionist’s desk, where she got to work.

One firm, “Quiet!” effectively silenced the massive group and she got down on her knees and spent the next hour closing up the hundreds of cuts across the man’s body. Two more Aides appeared during that time, helping her staunch the bleeding and setting broken bones. Her wand flicked out with strong, repetitive motions that would have her laid out and exhausted later.

But there was no time to think about later, only now. She powered through the physically demanding casting and weaving required to stitch Ron's body back together.

The Aides guided her motions so she could focus on her magic, a gentle ‘there’ and ‘here’ as they continuously told the group to keep silent on threat of being removed from the hospital. Susan didn’t say anything other than to request potions when needed, all her focus on keeping the man beneath her alive. His body was emaciated to the point his muscles had atrophied, nothing but bone underneath his freckled skin. Skin that was too pale to be healthy.

Skin covered with dirt and grime and what she knew to be fecal matter.

Magic took a toll. It drained her, the wand her conduit and the Healing Charm a song on her lips. At one point she was directly leaning over Ron, wand moving over his shattered shoulder, when his dull blue eyes blinked open. In them, Susan saw a helpless pit of pain and sorrow. The look of a man who thought he was going to die.

She reacted on instinct, grabbing the back of his head. Her fingers gripped mostly bloody hair. “Fight to live, Ron. You have to _fight_.”

Pain pushed him back into unconsciousness, and she continued to work.

.

Uncommon for a patient at St. Mungo’s, Ron stayed for a full week. 7 long days he spent in bed, in a deep healing sleep, surrounded by his friends and family. Susan watched from afar as they came and went, all of them making a fuss to ensure he was never left alone and getting the care he needed. From them she gleaned some information.

The woman Ron was dating had done this to him. Taken him hostage, cut him up among other things. She had him for 18 days. And she was dead. Killed by the sister.

After the initial damage was taken care of, Susan wasn’t responsible for his health, the focus shifting to the magical curse that was eating away at his insides, though she continued to drop by just to check on him. Physically, he _would_ be fine. No lasting damage. But there was only so much magic could do. He was still pretty banged up.

Mostly he slept. His body needed energy to heal. Three times a day he was given a high protein, high calorie meal spoon fed to him by family or an Aide. More than half of those he would pass out before finishing.

One night, on the second day of his visit—such a pleasant word for a hospital stay—she overheard Hermione Granger crying over Ron’s bed. She told the man he better survive otherwise she would be very, very cross with him. He hadn’t responded, his trauma soul deep, but the next day he seemed to be slightly more responsive to treatment.

She debated telling Hermione that her encouragement worked, even if not as well as the woman expected. But Susan knew better than to comment on Ron’s health before she knew anything for certain. Even the slightest bit of hope could destroy a person in the long run.

And she was no longer his Healer. Her specialty was in physical injuries. It was magic wrecking his insides and there were those that were much better suited to treat him than Susan Bones, Wound Maven.

It was the 5th day when he rose to full consciousness, disoriented and frightened. Susan wasn’t present, but the hospital gossip mill was in full swing about how he apparently asked for _her_ over anyone else. Something that made sense when she thought of the way he’d woken up when she first treated him.

She wouldn’t soon forget that look of despair in his eyes. He’d been looking directly at her, and something like that, in such a dire situation, was bound to stick.

It was with that cheery thought in mind that she made her way to his private room and faced down his family. Nothing like keeping her head high as she parted through a sea of Weasley's and rather famous witches and wizards who called themselves Ron’s friends. Likely because of their names, a slight leeway was allowed when it came to visiting hours.

But they were on _her_ turf, not the other way around. She didn’t care that they were confused why it was her name Ron said when he first woke up instead of one of theirs. The mind was a peculiar thing, inexpiable, even with magic. And Susan would not be cowed on her own turf. She met their eyes and said, “Visiting hours ended 25 minutes ago. Of course the parents may remain.”

Healing was prickly business for more than one reason.

They grumbled and left one by one as Susan approached the bed, glaring at a few unmistakable Weasley Brothers, before she met Ron’s frantic gaze. He gestured to his mouth, which was hanging open and slanted slightly to the left, betraying the amount of pain he was in. Without hesitating she pulled out a pain reliever and a large syringe, which she used to feed him the potion so he wouldn’t need to move his mouth.

He liked that about as much as anyone. That is to say, not at all.

Sadly, the homely, older couple Susan assumed to be Ron’s parents watched the entire thing. They both had a look of pity and horror on their faces, but Susan couldn’t do anything about it. Ron might be comfortable enough to be so vulnerable in front of his parents, but in her experience most grown men wouldn’t be.

Afterward, she gently placed her hands on his pale, sunken cheeks and felt along his jaw with as soft a touch as she could manage. The Pain Reliever had him relaxing under her touch. “You’re having problems speaking because your jaw was dislocated, Mr. Weasley. It’s been set properly but might be sore for a while yet because the surrounding muscles swelled. I assume you’ve been informed you’re at St. Mungo’s? That means you’re safe, certainly safe in my care.”

He tried several times to speak, but couldn’t quite move his mouth correctly. He pinched his fingers together and moved his hand back and forth, the universal symbol for writing. She summoned a ballpoint pen and a piece of parchment for him. Lifting off the bed slightly, he messily scribbled a name: _CHARLOTTE_. Then he underlined it three times.

The older gentleman came forward. “Dead. She’s dead, son.”

Ron didn’t seem very relieved though. His pen went crazy again. _SHE’S DONE IT BEFORE_.

“Oh, Arthur,” the woman gasped, clutching onto her husband.

“I’ll take care of it, Son. Rest for now.” He patted Ron’s leg gently before turning and walking away quickly.

“Your brothers are right outside the door,” the woman told Ron. “So is Harry. We won’t leave you alone, dear.”

Susan watched Ron’s face crumble a bit, the pen falling from his fingers. Susan dipped down to retrieve it. When she came up, she caught Ron staring at her intently with a pair of dull blue eyes that she remembered being much brighter during school.

“I saw you,” he bit out, his consonants soft and slurring together due to the inability to move his jaw much. “Saved me.”

“Me and several others,” she informed him with a forced smile. Then she looked at his mum. “Mrs. Weasley, if you don’t mind, Ron is due for his nightly check-up, if I could have the room for just a few minutes?”

It was obvious from her posture that Mrs. Weasley was reluctant to leave her son. She kissed the top of Ron’s head and whispered a few more words into his ear before finally exiting the room. Ron seemed miserable when he looked at Susan. He made the same gesture as before, wanting the pen back.

She placed it in his hand and held the paper still as he wrote out, _Do your worst—_

Barely off his deathbed and he was making jokes. Cute. Susan forced a laugh, but she didn’t have to try all that hard.

“No examination just yet. I can tell you need some time alone, rather, some time without family gawking at your distress,” she admitted softly, as the door wasn’t completely closed. “Healing is prickly business, Ron. And it’s better done without an audience. You’ll make a full recovery, but it’ll be painful and long. Sleep while you can and know you’ll wake up safe.”

A single tear leaked from his eye and ran down his cheek. _Thanks_ , he scribbled.

And that was the last time Susan saw Ron Weasley for eight months.


	2. Chapter 2

Small bag packed, Susan stuffed her feet into old hiking boots while simultaneously sucking down a breakfast shake. Every 6 months she took the weekend off and went to her family cabin, or rather _her_ cabin, bequeathed by Aunt Amelia. It wasn’t extravagant in the least, but it was in a rather inaccessible part of Scotland that meant no one could bother her.

For three blessed days.

Usually, she spent the first day hiking and seeing the nearby loch and waterfalls. Then she slept like a rock for two days. The one time she was allowed to be lazy. She had a pre-ordered Portkey sitting on her work desk, a ragged looking plastic coaster that had definitely seen better days. It was due to whisk her away in about 15 minutes. She checked her watch, a braided silver antique that once belonged to her Aunt, and breathed in sheer relief.

Work had been rather hellish the last week. She was a Wound Maven, a specialist among Healers that was skilled with physical injuries. It meant that sometimes she healed broken bones with ease and other days she had to deal with ruptured organs, burst arteries, or even amputations. 

Her job was not pretty.

But this weekend was about getting distance from her career. She placed her overnight bag right next to her desk and walked into the main room where the kitchen opened into a living room that she left wide open and free of clutter. Couches and other similar furniture were for people who had time to lounge. The tote bag on the counter had the St. Mungo’s Bell printed in a pale yellow outlined in black and it had plenty of groceries for the weekend.

Mostly snacks and unadventurous breakfast food.

Probably too many, but she didn’t want to have to leave the comfort of her cabin for any reason.

The tote went by her work desk too then she made sure her place was secure for the long weekend. No food that would spoil in the fridge, no windows left unlocked, no unplugged appliances magic folk couldn’t bother to learn how to work.

She checked her watch again and the exact moment she did, there was a knock at the door. Probably the lady who lived across the hall from her. Tina, a crafty old witch, was always losing her Miniature Schnauzer, Pepper. A dog who acted more like a cat and often got out in the early morning.

Susan opened the door with the intention of informing Tina she hadn’t seen Pepper all week and instead met the wary blue-eyed gaze of Ron Weasley. His face was covered in swirls of dark red beard and he’d let his hair grow out until it was nearly down to his ears. It was as curly as his beard.

She liked it, but only because it covered up how skinny he was.

He seemed relieved to see her, and that was the most concerning part of it all. “Ron? Did we… have an appointment?”

Sometimes she met patients at her place for rounds of physical therapy, aided generously by the use of magic. But she studied her appointment book like some people studied the bible. No way she missed an appointment, ever. And she knew without a doubt that Ron never scheduled any appointment with her.

He didn’t need physical therapy.

And, as expected, Ron shook his head no. He opened his mouth several times, but couldn’t come up with a word. The seconds stretched into a minute and finally he shook his head and said, “I tried to work out what I wanted to say the entire way over here and all I can come up with is, I can’t help it.”

Such an open, honest statement from someone she’d had barely any contact with after school. It felt awkward, and yet she knew he was only being up front with her. She just didn’t know how to deal with it. She was great with injuries, and she could step in for some of the tougher cases if the situation required it, de-cursing, brewing up anti-venoms, reversing ill-fated transfigurations, sure. But actual people? Relationships?

Ha.

“Are you… cursed?” she asked, opening the door further, loathe to leave him on the doorstep if he needed help. A curse would make some sense. She knew, mostly from the gossip mill, that he’d been in and out of the hospital for nearly a month after his abduction and initial hospital visit. She’d healed his physical wounds, but the magical ones had lingered for that month or so, giving the other healers a bit of a headache.

The emotional wounds probably wouldn’t fade for years.

“What? No. Not magically, anyway,” he shivered, his shoulders shaking briefly. “Sorry, I don’t know why I came here.”

“How do you know where ‘here’ is?”

“Oh… well… I might’ve asked around a bit…” he shuffled awkwardly, suddenly realizing how creepy it was for him to show up at her door. “I went to the hospital first, they said you weren’t there and couldn’t tell me when you were coming back… I might have convinced them otherwise...”

“Policy enacted to keep the staff safe,” she informed him. “Policy that _sucks_ apparently.”

“I’m sorry. Let me start over? Would you like to… go out for a drink?”

Awkward. So awkward. She braced against the door frame and really looked at him. He looked like the human form of a beaten puppy. If he had bigger ears, she imagined they would have been down low. “When?” she asked, not wanting to outright reject him. They were friendly at school.

“How about now?”

She checked her watch. 10 minutes until her Portkey would activate. And...“It’s 9 in the morning, Ron. I have plans this weekend.”

“Of course,” he laughed, but it sounded hollow. His cheeks turned as red as his hair. Not as red as her hair. But certainly red. “Of course. Sorry, I’m a huge idiot for coming here…”

The door across the hall opened. Tina’s shaggy head poked out. “Ey, Susie Beeeeee, everything allllll right out here?”

“Everything’s fine, Tina,” Susan assured the old lady. “This is my friend Ron.”

“Friend, eh?”

Susan felt her own cheeks heating up. She lived in a building full of the elderly, mostly widows. Horny widows. They gossiped more than the staff at Mungo’s did. And they all wanted to see a ‘Nice lass’ like Susan married sooner rather than later. She reached forward and dragged Ron into her living room before Tina could say anything to make the situation more awkward. Like asking about _babies._

Door shut firmly, she turned to Ron who seemed a little jumpy at their physical contact. “You’re not an idiot, Ron. But you should’ve written a letter. My Portkey is leaving in,” she glanced at her watch. “8 minutes. So you have 7 minutes to say… whatever you have to say.”

“Portkey?”

“I’m taking the weekend off, going to my family cabin,” she crossed her arms. “Sorry. Family is a strong word. My cabin.”

“That must be nice… I’d do just about anything to get away from my family right now…” he admitted softly, mostly to himself.

She checked her watch. 6 minutes. “So you can either get to talking, or come with me.”

The invitation slipped out of her mouth without conscious thought. They were both surprised by it.

“I… Could I?” he asked, a little desperately. “Is that something you really want?”

“I’d rather be alone…” But her Healer instincts were kicking in. Ron needed help. And he was asking her, rather badly, for it. He must be hopeless. “There’s a spare bedroom. If you can pack and be back in time for the Portkey, you're welcome to join me. It’ll activate at 9 AM exactly.”

He turned his wrist and looked down, as if checking his own watch. Except he wasn’t wearing one. “Er-how long?”

“4 minutes.”

“I’ll be right back,” he said, taking his wand out and Apparating away.

“Pack warm! Nights are cold…” but he was gone. And she had the opportunity to properly freak out. What was she doing? Inviting him along on her solitary weekend away? She didn’t know anything about him except trivia. Gryffindor. War Hero. Favorite color is orange. 6th of 7 children. Everything written on his Chocolate Frog card.  
And all she remembered from their time at school together. Most of which boiled down to a bucket of slugs and D.A. meetings in 5th year. Oh, maybe a rather good round of chess. Nothing that added up to this insane idea of inviting him to her cabin. Her family cabin.

Oh, but how desperate he must be by accepting.

At exactly 30 seconds to go, there was another knock on the door. She opened the door quickly and found Ron with a small bag, in orange, of his own. “C’mon!” she grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him inside, shutting the door and turning the deadbolt.

They rushed into her bedroom where she released his arm and grabbed her own two bags. “Ready?” she gestured to the coaster. “Three… two… one…”

They reached out at the same time, placing a hand on the chipped and dirty coaster. Just in time to spin off wildly. She landed with a slight bend in her knees in a patch of tall grass, Ron right next to her. She should've been dizzy, but his profile caught her attention. The look of relief on his face when he looked up and saw the cabin, the only interruption of the endless blue sky and tall mountains, reminded her of a bird escaping its cage.

Finally, that look said.

He still looked skinny, and under direct sunlight his eyes seemed even more sunken. But a weight had lifted off his shoulders by coming here. It erased any lingering doubts she had about the rash decision to bring him.

“C’mon,” she waved at him to follow. Walking through the front door, she kissed her palm and pressed it into the corner of her Aunt’s portrait. It wasn’t a magical portrait, though Amelia Bones did have one at the Wizengamot in the Ministry. Her aunt was more handsome than beautiful, Susan thought. Nothing like herself, though often she found herself wishing she looked more like her father’s side of the family, wanting to see those same features in person and not in picture. Susan took after her Muggle mother, not the Bones's.

Mairin had been pure Irish; upturned nose, high cheekbones, round chin. And vividly red hair she passed on Susan. That was all she had of her mother, because Death Eaters had killed her entire family.

Which was why Susan was raised by her aunt.

This portrait was a still shot of Amelia and Susan. But this picture held special significance, because Amelia rarely showed emotion to anyone. And this picture clearly showed Amelia looking down at Susan with immense love.

Ron shut the door behind them and she ignored that slight shake in his hand, a tremor that repeated a few times. He looked up at the portrait and studied it long enough the tremble disappeared.

“Upstairs, there’s two bedrooms. Pick either. I’ll take the master on the ground floor,” she said walking further into the house with her bags. “I brought plenty of food so you needn’t worry about that. In about an hour I’ll be heading out for a hike and some sightseeing. There are some pretty spectacular waterfalls nearby, if you care to join me be down here then. If not, I’ll see you later tonight.”

He fidgeted nervously, unsure of what to say.

“No one knows about this place,” she turned around and told him. It was also a warning. “I’d like it to remain that way.”

“I haven’t had a moment to myself in months,” he admitted, voice shaking with a raw quality. He was both relieved and afraid. “I won’t spill your secret.”

She knew from the press coverage of his abduction-which was obnoxious at best-that there was some speculation to exactly what the witch who had taken him had done. More than just physically harming him, the rumors were disparaging at best and macabre at worst. As it wasn’t any of her business, she tried not to pay attention to it.

She would not handle having her life on display well, she didn’t imagine Ron would either.

“There’s a shower upstairs,” she added gently, then continued on to her own bedroom.

She spent several minutes using her wand to banish the dust and cobwebs, cleaning up the bathroom that was attached to the master bedroom, and airing out the down comforter on the bed. She could afford to have someone come by and keep the place clean, but that defeated the purpose of her cabin. A place no one knew about, a secret place. Total seclusion.

And maybe she had some trust issues but it wasn't like there was anyone around to argue with her about it.

She opened all the windows in the master to let in the soft breeze and paused at the final one, closest to the bed, to breathe in a big breath of fresh Highland air. A squat rowan tree that partly shaded the house rustled in the breeze. And beyond the knee-high stone wall that marked the property were the rugged snow capped mountains that surrounded a deep loch, the water clear and blue. Her favorite waterfall fed into that loch and it was the first place she was headed.

Above her head she heard gentle steps that reminded her she wasn’t alone.

He was talking to himself: “Don’t be a ninny, Ron.”

Her house guest walked across the room situated above the master and stepped into the shower. She heard the water begin running through the pipes followed by a loud yelp because that old water heater took ages to heat up. Even longer since he was on the second floor.

Susan remembered every wound he sustained from his abduction. It had taken her an hour just to tend to the critical injuries. Another two hours to get the rest. She’d passed out afterwards on the couch in the break room.

The man should’ve been dead.


	3. Chapter 3

Roughly an hour later, Susan packed her backpack with two waters, a couple of granola bars, her Ash wand, and a heavy sweater. The hike she intended to go on was easy, gentle slopes and wide paths, but it never hurt to be prepared. It would take about an hour to walk to the waterfall.

She waited at the bottom of the stairs to see if Ron would appear. The shower had run for a long time before shutting off but since then she'd heard nothing but silence. Right before she went to leave without him, he appeared at the top of the stairs in a comfortable, hand knitted sweater, a pair of loose jeans, and a worn pair of hiking boots. He held a bright blue windbreaker in his hands.

He paused for a second, seeming unsure. Of her? Or himself? Maybe both. He cleared his throat and said, "Hiking right?"

"It's an easy trail," she assured him. "An hour there, an hour back."

"Okay." And it seemed he had to make himself continue down the stairs. "Are you sure you want me along?"

The last time she walked the trail with another person, Susan had been 15 years old. The following year, war broke out in earnest, and she'd been alone ever since. "Come," she waved him through the open front door.

He nodded once. "I'll follow your lead."

Susan eyed up the giant R on his maroon colored sweater and nodded. "Usually a terrible idea, but in this case, I know my way."

"Ha. I forgot how funny you are."

Susan didn't know what to make of that. Had she been funny in school? She always thought herself rather shy, having grown up as the only child in a family of two. It had always been hard for her to make friends, even with those in her school house. 5th year had probably been her most social, what with the D.A. Meetings she attended, but she dropped off pretty hard the year after.

For obvious reasons.

She led Ron from the property and down towards the loch, keeping it slow going to see how he did, using his health as a distraction from thinking about school and 7th year in particular.

She hadn't a chance then to be social then either, her rudimentary skills with Healing sorely needed that year. Though, it was off Madam Pomfrey's recommendation that she got into St. Mungo's Healing program at such a young age the year after.

His long legs kept up fine with her casual pace but he seemed to be pushing himself… and she didn't feel like hurrying anyway. So they continued on slowly, stopping here and there to admire the sight of the tall mountains and endlessly blue sky.

"You'd think I'd be used to the sight of the Highlands," he commented quietly sometime later. "But it doesn't really get old, does it?"

Susan agreed. She'd been coming here her whole life and felt much the same way.

At the bottom of the valley, they stopped at the shore and looked out over the deep loch, spotting a pool of fish just below the surface. Probably shad or trout. The fish darted away before she could get a good look at their scales but it brought a small smile to Ron's face.

Their walk started out sunny, but as they looked out over the water, a large group of grey clouds moved overhead. Such things happened in the Highlands, the weather could be sunny one moment, and cool and rainy the next. She peaked at Ron and found him taking deeper breaths and decided to linger a little longer, taking in the scenery as if it's what she intended to do.

"We can follow the path this way, along the south side of the loch," she pointed towards the path they were currently on. "Which is definitely the easier way. Or we can go along the northern side, which is more rocky terrain and might add half an hour or so to our hike."

Ron knelt down on the shore, looking into the water and searching through a group of pebbles that looked darker while wet. "I hate to drag you down," he admitted softly. "Useless lump I am, I should be able to handle it. If not, well, do you know of any good Healers around if I don't make it?"

Another joke. Though she didn't care for the unseemly way he referred to himself, she attempted a joke of her own. "There's one who wanders this trail on occasion, but she's subpar at best."

"Ha." He shot her a quick glance, blue eyes a little brighter. "Subpar? I know of a few lives she's saved, including this one."

"Ah yes, I vaguely remember a scratch or two."

"Scratch or two." Shaking his head, Ron stood up and took a deep breath. "How about we take the rugged path there, and the easy one back?"

That plan sounded perfect to her. They took an even slower approach to the more rugged path, a path that sloped upwards over rocks and one or two tricky ledges. It flattened out into a small plateau that looked out over the loch just when Ron was actively panting for breath, sweat beading down his brow.

"Rest here," she ordered, swinging her pack around and unzipping the main pocket. She pulled out a water and handed it to him. He made sure to avoid touching her. Then he drank deeply, nearly half the bottle before sitting down on the ledge, letting his feet dangle as he gasped for air.

"Maybe this was a bad idea," he heaved, chest rising with the force of his breaths. "You'd probably be at your destination now if I hadn't crashed your trip, Susie."

She situated her pack behind them and sat on the ledge beside Ron, sipping at her own water bottle. It was enchanted to remain cool, and keep the water pure. She turned and pulled out a granola bar, handing it over.

He took it but didn't eat just yet, still trying to catch his breath.

"I'm in no rush," she told him. Then in a quieter voice, "I told you healing is tough business. Do you make a habit of not listening to your Healers?"

"My Healers?" he laughed, sounding exhausted. "They wonder how I survived, how someone could take so much damage and not go into shock. I tell them, I'm pretty sure I've been in shock the last 9 months or so…"

Susan laughed out loud, though she shouldn't have. It wasn't funny. Really.

"See? I think I'm hysterical," he continued, hand on his side as if he had a stitch. Which was just a muscle cramp, usually exercise related. "They never laugh at my jokes."

"Healers are uptight," she told him, reaching out slowly and turning his chin. His beard felt soft against her fingers. She peered into his eyes—the surest sign of _real_ shock was dilated pupils. His looked fine. And she noticed just how blue his eyes really were. "Not in shock, Mr. Weasley. Just winded."

"Oh, great. Winded from a little walk. You know I used to play Quidditch. I was in pretty good shape once upon a time."

"If it makes you feel any better, it's all downhill from here."

Ron burst out laughing, as she meant him to. "Life? Or the trail?"

"Both," she grinned. Her face was really starting to protest all the smiling.

He finished his water and she used her wand to refill it. He finished that too, then started on his granola bar. They looked out over the water and enjoyed the view in comfortable silence, until he finished his snack and gave her another smile.

"You're sweet," he said. And he _meant_ it too.

"Hardly," she scrunched up her nose and unwrapped her own granola bar.

"You don't like compliments?" he asked. "Too bad, maybe you shouldn't be so nice to me then."

"Don't be fooled, I have 206 bones in my body and most of them are pretty mean," she told him while chewing.

"Is that why your last name is 'Bones'?"

"Ooo, how original," she glowered. "Unless you're deformed, you also have 206 bones in your body. But I'd have to take some scans to be sure."

"206 is the usual amount?"

"For an adult, yes."

Ron's smile faded and his gaze drifted out towards the water. The clouds moved on and the water glittered underneath the sunlight. That shake came back to his hand and she suddenly worried that the ledge they sat on was very high up.

He said, "I'm one short at two-oh-five then."

She didn't recall any of his wounds that would account for loss of a bone, but she'd been too busy plugging in the holes. Lots of holes. Too bad she couldn't heal his emotional hurts the same way she did the physical ones.

Perhaps she should've kept her mouth shut. And now, not knowing how to rectify her mistake, she settled for distraction.

"Not the best story to tell at a party. I'd probably stick to your years at school, or bring up the fact your portrait is on a chocolate frog card."

She sensed as the tension passed. They sat there long enough his breathing evened out, and it wasn't uncomfortable. It was even… nice. Nice to sit on that ledge, nothing but the sounds of nature around, to look out into the wilderness. It was exactly why she took the weekend to spend at her cabin twice a year. She just never expected to do so with someone else.

Suddenly, he laughed a bit. "It's my crowning achievement."

"What is?"

"Getting a chocolate frog card," he finally glanced over at her. "I have them all, mine included… except for Agrippa. Been looking for that one since I was a kid."

Susan stood up and helped him to his feet. Then she grabbed her backpack and said, "I think I have an Agrippa at home."

His mouth dropped open. "Really…? Willing to trade? I have an extra Glanmore Peakes, very rare!"

"I don't really collect," she grinned again, leading him down the trail. "C'mon, the path will be easier from here on out."

"Bones!" he rushed after her. "Really, anything you want. I bet I can get it."

"I bet you can," she agreed.

They haggled as the trail led them down the valley and towards her favorite waterfall. By the time they reached where the loch met the rock face, Ron was out of breath again, but still determined to woo her into trading one of maybe four chocolate frog cards she owned.

She stopped and looked up, seeing the water cascading over the mountain and hitting one of three big boulders before running into the loch. The area was shallow here, and bubbly from the force of the falling water.

She loved this waterfall. She loved how private it was. The way the land sloped, the way the mountains had formed, the area… it all added up to a perfectly secluded spot. But the best part was the secret hiding place behind the falls. She didn't think Ron had spotted it yet. He was too busy offering everything from Harry's signature to his mum's apparently famous rhubarb custard tarts.

While she enjoyed a good pastry, she much preferred this eager, passionate version of Ron to the shaky, somber thing she witnessed on the ledge.

"I'll get you Agrippa," she promised. "You can owe me one. Maybe one of those cool sweaters you have on."

"Oh, hell yeah. It's a deal," he held out his hand.

Which she took right away. They shook on it and Ron gave her a big, goofy smile for all of five seconds. Then she felt a violent spasm in his hand before he wrenched his arm away and backed up a few steps. He went… elsewhere. Not physically, but mentally. Something triggered by their touch, though why the handshake caused such a response when she touched his chin earlier without incident was something to think about.

Trauma was not her forte, though she knew a bit about panic attacks and their many causes. Someone who knew him better might have a chance of calming him down, guiding him through the attack. Helping him to breathe. But she was the one who, albeit accidentally, triggered his attack and more, he didn't know her all that well and vice versa.

She decided to back off and let him handle it on his own, hating the whining breaths he took and the sad way he hunched over, as if in great pain.

Setting down the pack safely away from the water, she took off her boots and stuffed her socks inside before setting them beside the pack. Then she climbed up onto the nearest boulder, pulling herself up by her arms, and letting the water slide over her body. It was chilly, but it was worth the secret.

She turned to check on Ron, found him sitting at the loch's edge with his arms wrapped around his knees, and biting down on his lip while looking at her apologetically. She made sure he was watching as she stepped through the falling water and into the hidden cave beyond. A short walk through the narrow opening and she was standing in a wide, near perfectly round cavern.

It was completely enclosed in the mountain, but bioluminescent plants grew all along the ceiling. Big, hanging tropical looking leaves drooped down, spreading gentle blue and greenish colored light across the entire cave. On the far side, there was a deep pool of water, completely still and clear. Lit up by the same plants that grew beneath the water's surface in every neon shade of blue and green.

Susan rolled up her jeans and walked across the cool stone, sitting on the edge of the dark pool and sinking her feet into the hot water. The bacteria that gave the plant life in the cavern its bioluminescence also kept the water near constant at a near perfect temperature for a hot bath.

She'd never seen anyone else here. There weren't any indications that the cave was man made, and yet, it seemed too amazing to be natural. Too perfect. There was no animal life within the cave, no fish in the water. More, there were no wards in the area and the cave was concealed by the waterfall, not magic.

If wizards created this haven, which was entirely possible, it might've been long ago. The secret forgotten in time.

It was sheer luck she found it as a child.

The closest town was a two-day walk away, or a few hours on broom. She _might_ be the only person who knew of its existence. Well… other than Ron. The man she seemed to be revealing a lot of secrets to.

The one who ventured into the cave right then and took a good look around. He also came in barefoot and at the sight of her sitting at the pool's edge, rolled up his own jeans and sat beside her.

He hissed the moment his toe entered the water. "I didn't think it'd be hot!"

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

He snorted. "Real mature, Bones."

"I have my moments," she looked at him. He seemed extra pale underneath the blue and green lighting, but she saw no signs of his panic attack.

"Yes, I'm okay," he answered the unasked question, peeling out of his sweater. He turned to place it to the side and she got a good look at his t-shirt, which said: _Desperate? Try being a Cannon's fan._

He had the right idea, she was getting pretty warm as well. She unbuttoned her damp sweater and put it next to his. Though her t-shirt wasn't cool like his. Just a plain white t-shirt.

He continued, "Not sure why that happens. It's less frequent than a few months ago, so maybe my very expensive therapist is doing some good but mostly he just stares blankly at my bad jokes. Sometimes I think he's incredibly insightful, y'know? He brings up such a good point that it makes me sit down and think. Other times I just want to shake him until some kind of sense of humor falls out. Surely there's some in there?"

He kicked at the water, deep in thought. "But then again, I guess I shouldn't be trying to make him laugh so much and let him do his job?"

"How often do you see him?"

Even in the dim lighting, she could see his cheeks grow darker. "Twice a week. That's how _broken_ I am."

Susan wondered about that, and wondered who had planted the idea in his head that he was broken. The way he said it, it seemed like a quote. Like he was repeating something someone else said. Healing was tough, and unfortunately she was no good at words. Give her a split artery or a deep cut to work with. Ron's hurts were much deeper than that, and she felt like she hadn't even scratched the surface.

"Hmm… can you swim, Ron?"

"What? Yeah? Why?"

She didn't wait, just pushed him into the pool. He wasn't expecting the move, so he wasn't ready for it. She laughed as he splashed around under the water for a moment before he spread his arms and swam to the surface.

His hair stuck to his face and he shook his head to clear it away. "What's that about, Bones?!"

"My entertainment, mostly. A distraction for you. I didn't ask, Ron. You don't have to explain your panic attacks to me."

Mostly because she had no right to an explanation in the first place. She wouldn't invade his space like that, even though technically he did invade her vacation. But no, she felt the need to nurture their friendship, not demand answers or start diagnosing him. As she would never bring a stranger to her family cabin, that made Ron a friend.

And Susan was the kind to push her friends into the pool and laugh about it.

"I think that's why I sought you out," he admitted, running his hands through his wet hair, causing it to slick back. "That or… I'm mentally unstable. Or both probably. I can't believe you invited me along on your vacation. I showed up at your door like a right loon, what were you thinking?"

"I had to get you out of the hallway in my building. Tina is an expert gossip. One time, I ordered a pizza, and the delivery girl and I had a two minute chat about the broken elevator, next thing I know? I had a girlfriend who enjoyed bringing me pizza on Thursdays. Old Jeffery one floor up tried to set me up with his niece. She's an accountant."

"Did you take him up on his offer?" he teased.

"Ha, tempting. No. I'm sure the accountant was thankful for it too. I'm a stubborn, workaholic with abandonment issues, which does not make for a good girlfriend I'm afraid."

"No…" he floated in the pool easily, his eyes sparkled in the neon lights. "Makes for a pretty stellar healer though."

"You think?"

"I know," he caught her eye and Susan had the feeling she was being tested.. "Do you realize how many people have told me how lucky I am it was _you_ that treated me when I came to the hospital? Because there's only one Wound Maven in the whole country? Because you just so happened to be available and waiting in the receptionist area for the next patient? That if it had been _anyone_ else, any other Healer, my goose would've been cooked like a proper Christmas dinner?"

"No," she avoided his gaze, feeling angry on his behalf. How could people be so careless? So clueless? "How many people have told you how lucky you are?"

He let out a half laugh, half gasp. "See? I knew you would understand."

"I don't see how," she kicked her feet in the water the same way he had. "I know we went to school together, but we were in different houses. We don't really know each other all that well."

"I knew it because when I was in Mungo's and I couldn't talk because my jaw wasn't screwed in right, you were the only one who noticed..."

Ron swallowed, as if talking about it caused him a lot of distress. The pain of remembering could do that, she knew.

"That they wouldn't leave me alone for even a second. When my family looks at me now…" he took a ragged breath, swimming around in lazy circles. The gentle bioluminescent lighting highlighted the tear tracks down his cheeks. "It's like all they see is when they found me like that… all cut up and broken… They all saw me like that. All my family, Harry and 'Mione, and… my baby sister… They look at me with pity and smother me and-and-and follow me around all the time like I'm an incapable ninny…"

He shook himself and stopped in front of her. "But not you."

"Not me," she agreed. "But Ron, I should remind you that I healed all of your wounds. I saw you like that as well."

"Yeah…" he stared at her intently, as if annoyed she wasn't understanding the exact meaning of his words. "But you don't _see_ me like that, do you? When I came to your door, there was no pity on your face. You just…"

"Listen. If I saw every patient as they were when they came to the hospital, especially my patients, I would only see injured people everywhere I went. Furthermore," she pinned him with her best impression of Aunt Amelia and her infamous 'you-will-listen-and-do-as-I-say' look that once brought the Wizengamot to their knees.

"We, all of us, are more than our hurts, Ron. They might've beaten you, and they almost killed you, but you survived. And that's the important thing to remember. You _survived_."

The word made Ron flinch. For all of its two syllables, it seemed to make a deep impact. "I survived. That's what matters. I survived..."

He repeated those words, taking the long way to swim to the other side of the pool, leaving little blue and green bubbles in his wake. He stayed for several minutes, talking out loud though he was just far away enough and just quiet enough Susan couldn't make out the words. She wasn't a therapist, and she didn't know his full story. But she hoped desperately that she'd given him some amount of comfort. That perhaps, for whatever reason, he would listen and believe her words even over those of his family and therapist.

But it felt a fanciful thought at best. There was a lot magic could fix. But a traumatized mind was something that needed time and effort, nurture and care. There were no magic words that could help Ron.

After a while, during which she soaked her tragically neglected feet, he swam back towards her and gave a wobbly smile. "Can you swim, Bones?"

"Nope," she grinned, finding him impressive for his sense of humor. There might just be hope for him yet.

Of course then he reached out and wrapped his hand around her ankle, causing her gasp when he pulled her into the pool. Duh. She should've seen that coming. She got a mouthful of hot water for her troubles.

"Argh!" coughing, she kicked her feet to stay afloat.

She felt a hand take her elbow, pushing upwards and keeping her head over the water. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to breathe in water? Do you really not know how to swim? Honestly."

"I do know how to swim, thank you very much," she kicked out of his hold and swam a few feet away. Her shirt ballooned, making her movement less than graceful. She pushed it down into the water before he got a good look at any goodies. "Here I am, trying to be supportive and you go and pull me into the water."

"You did it first," he reminded her, halfheartedly splashing her from where he floated.

"No clue what you're talking about," she said, splashing him back. "I would _never_."

Ron gently floated over next to her. "No really, why did you invite me along? I can't figure it out."

The urge to mess with him was strong. She straightened until they were face to face, both floating gently in the deep pool of warm water and glowing plants and the look on his face wiped any such urges away. Her whole life, she hadn't met anyone she could call a true friend. Which seemed to be contrary to her nature.

Everyone always said that Hufflepuffs were good at friendship, good at loyalty. Yet, Susan didn't have anyone to be loyal too… especially after her Aunt died. She figured it was a mistake she was sorted into Hufflepuff and moved on. School wasn't everything and it certainly did not define her. She was more than a student. More than a Hufflepuff. And at this point, she'd spent more years out of Hogwarts than in it and she never got on with that popular line of thinking that school would be 'the best years of her life'.

But she could be loyal to something other than people. To certain people. She could be loyal to her patients. To her job. True to herself, and whatever else that may be. She looked up at him and thought of the wary look in his eyes when he knocked on her door. The explanation he gave for coming to see her, _I can't help it_ , had been difficult to hear. As if he were so lost, throwing himself at her in a last ditch effort to find some kind of comfort was his last chance.

"There was no way I could turn you away," she admitted to him in a soft voice. "If it had been someone else, anyone else really, I would have invited them into my home just the same. I can't help it. I'm a Healer first. But I wouldn't have brought them here."

Ron shuddered, sending a gentle wave of water at her. "Really?"

"I've never shared this place with anyone before, it's too special to me. And I don't know of anyone who knows of it but… call it Healer Instinct or whatever you like… I knew you needed to escape from there as much as I did… maybe even more so."

Sniffing back tears, Ron nodded. "My family is driving me bonkers," he said, voice cracking. "I know they want me to be okay… I know that. But I can't talk about what happened with them."

"Why not, Ron?"

"They can't handle it, I bring it up even once and all they remember is me in the hospital. Cut up and near dead. My mum gets all weepy the way women do—" he sent her a guilty wince. "Y'know, I don't wanna be the kind of son that makes his mum cry. And my dad, my brothers, Harry… That's all they see when they look at me. Broken. I'm just… broken."

His sniffs turned to uncontrollable breaths. "She broke me."

Susan recalled his note, the one he wrote to her in the hospital. Charlotte. Charlotte Hastedt, a name she learned from the papers after Ron's rescue. But Susan knew next to nothing about her, other than Ron's sister killed the dark witch during the rescue. And that she had Ron for 18 long days. Susan had seen the result of those 18 days first hand.

She hated dark witches.

"It sounds as if your family loves you very much," she told him as he tried to calm his rapid breathing. She wanted to steer him away from the cause of his pain. "It might be hard for them to hear how hurt you were, especially when they've seen it for themselves. I mean… it's hard for me and I'm nothing to you like your family is..."

He gave her an odd look before turning away from her, dunking his head beneath the water and wiping his face frantically. Reemerging, he shook the water from his head, making his hair curl with wetness. "One moment I'm fine, the next I'm crying like a ninny."

"Do you share what you went through with your therapist?" she couldn't help but ask.

"He knows," Ron sighed, pushing his hair back again. "He knows everything."

"And does he help you find ways to cope with it? Or does he just stare blankly then too?"

Ron covered his face with wet hands, and laughed. A hollow, pain filled sound. "We talk about coping with my issues, mostly I just feel… hopeless. And there's no one else to talk to about it."

"She's dead. Your sister killed her. And you survived."

"I survived," he agreed. "I survived."

"If you want," she continued, and carefully extended her hand to rest on his back. "We can go to the cabin and talk about it."

Shuddering again, he turned and looked at her. "Not here?"

"I love this cave, and the hot water pool, but I think this conversation is better suited to have with warm food and dry clothes, yes?"

"Are you a therapist too?" he asked, letting her guide them towards the edge. She hopped up to sit on the ledge and helped him do the same. It took a lot of physical effort for him to pull himself out of the water.

"Me? Nope, not even a little bit. I'd rather see you with a broken bone or open wound."

"That's a weird kink," he forced a smile while wringing out his shirt.

She caught the sight of silvery scars across his torso—and a lot of freckles. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut. Physical wounds she could heal, but pointing that out would only make it seem like he was beyond repair. And he wasn't broken, just hurt.

"Not my favored turn-on," she said casually, standing up. "I'd rather a good spanking."

He was so startled, as intended, that he forgot to be uncomfortable. Instead, Ron's eyes went perfectly wide as he stared up at her. "You don't say…?"

"Call me old fashioned."

Then Ron really laughed. "You're terrible."


	4. Chapter 4

Back at the cabin after a long walk and several drying charms, Susan listened to the shower run upstairs while she made breakfast. For dinner. It had taken a lot longer for Ron to make it back to the cabin on foot, mostly because they had to keep stopping to rest, even though they walked the gentler path home. Which was more than fine with her, something she had to continuously remind him of during their hike.

She kept a wary eye on him the whole way, but exhaustion seemed to be the thing holding him back and she found herself wishing, a little late, that she'd been one of the Healers assigned to address his curse. She itched to know more, to have all the information, but he wasn't her patient.

She'd just decided back in the cave that they were friends, and she had to remind herself that more than once during the walk. Completing the trail, as long as it had taken, had done some good for Ron's moral even though it fatigued him greatly.

It did her a lot of good too.

She hoped that a hearty meal would finish off the day strong. Her cooking skills left a lot to be desired, she was more likely to be found with a box of take out than a home cooked meal, but she could do breakfast.

And was there anything better in the world than breakfast foods?

Bacon sizzled and above her she heard the water turn off. Footsteps sounded across the ceiling, the wooden planks groaning, and she heard him say: "Stop being a _ninny_ , Ron."

Susan wondered if he often talked to himself or did he just need some self-encouragement? Maybe she should let him know the floor wasn't as soundproofed as he thought it was. A Privacy Charm would take care of that, but it was fun listening to him refer to himself as a ninny over and over again.

'Ninny' seemed to be alright, a self deprecating comic relief even. 'Broken' was not. She didn't want to hear Ron call himself 'Broken' again.

After a few minutes she scooted the bacon over and cracked a few eggs into the pan. Not a pan, a skillet. One that was older than she was. The ancient gas stove had two burners and a small oven. The enamel might've been a dark blue at one point, but had darkened with age until it looked mostly black. The hardware was made of tarnished silver and she used the handle to open the oven hatch and pop several slices of bread inside to get toasting.

It was at that point when Ron started down the stairs. He came around the corner and had to duck under the overhead to get into the kitchen. His sweater was back. Maroon with a big golden R. It seemed homemade and incredibly warm.

"My mouth is watering," he told her earnestly. "I'm starved."

"You burned a lot of calories today," she said, eyeing up his trim stature. "It's been 8 months, you should be back up to your weight by now."

Ron hovered over the oven, practically drooling and unable to meet her eye. "Doesn't matter what I eat or how much I eat, I constantly feel like a stiff wind will knock me over."

Susan grabbed a plate from the small cabinet overhead but paused. "How do you like your eggs?"

His eyes were pinned on the food but a small smile tilted his lips, the movement fascinating. He seemed to struggle a moment before finally saying, "Cooked in bacon grease and served to me by a sexy redhead."

Oh.

_Oh._

That was different.

Had she ever been called 'sexy' before? No. Definitely not.

Wait, was she misunderstanding? It wouldn't be the first time she misconstrued advances from the opposite sex. But usually the situation happened the other way around, they flirted with her, she was, as usual, clueless to their intentions, and ended up hurting feelings without ever meaning to.

Susan realized she'd been staring right at Ron for an awkward amount of time, trying to figure out if he was coming on to her or not. Long enough his cheeks had turned rosy with embarrassment.

"Sorry, forget I said anything," he mumbled, but ultimately confirming that he had been flirting with her.

"Do you always flirt with food?" she asked, loading the plate up with all four eggs and several slices of bacon. She bent down and grabbed some toast from the oven and laid it over the bacon to soak up the grease.

"Food is definitely a motivator for me," he took the plate she handed him graciously and finally looked at her. "I realize I haven't said thank you, to you, today. So… er… _thank you, Susie_. Thank you very much."

"You're welcome, Ron."

Susan cracked a few more eggs into the skillet handled by her Aunt, and her grandmother before that, and her great-grandmother before that. She realized that he called her 'Bones' when they were conversing casually and 'Susie' when he was being serious. And for all the world she hadn't an idea what that meant, but thought maybe she liked it.

No. No maybe. She did like it.

"So… how do you like your eggs?" he asked awkwardly, clearly trying not to drop the conversation even if he was hungry.

"Cooked in bacon grease," she told him with a grin, deciding to flirt back. "Served to me by a sexy redhead. Go sit down Ron, eat up. I'll be right there."

He matched her grin, looking awfully tired, and took his plate to the two person table by the window. "This day is kind of surreal, isn't it?"

Susan made sure the oven was off after she extracted the rest of the toast and added the slices to her own plate of eggs and bacon and tomatoes. Then she joined Ron at the table. "If I have to tell you to eat one more time…"

He quickly took two large forkfuls and chewed obediently.

"That's better," she sat down and had a bad moment when she realized the last time she sat at this table with someone else had been nearly 15 years ago with her Aunt Amelia. She'd been so young.

"Are you alright?" he asked, covering his mouth as he chewed and talked at the same time. "You suddenly got pale. Like scary pale."

"Yes…" she bit her lip and decided on sarcasm. "You think you're the only one with personal issues? Hate to break it to you, but you aren't that special."

"So prickly, Bones. Wanna talk about it?"

Just like that. No, 'You should smile more' or 'Stop being bitter about it'. He took her glum attitude and went with it.

"Not much to talk about, I'm afraid," she admitted, finally digging into her own meal. "Dead family, raised by my aunt, she died when I was 16. Real sob story."

"You uh, want mine? Got an overload of 'em, honestly. Nagging, invasive, overprotective-" he stabbed his eggs with his fork. "Weasley's can't mind their own business to save their lives."

"I remember having to threaten them at the hospital just to get them to be quiet so I could work."

"And my brother told me it only took one word for you to get the room quiet, everyone was too afraid to say anything further."

"I had work to do, they were being very loud. I won't apologize."

"Good." He waited a few seconds and then continued eating. He swallowed then said again, "Thank you."

It occurred to Susan that Ron might've sought her company out of gratitude, out of some need to show appreciation for saving his life. His family might've been driving him crazy, but he sounded warmhearted when he spoke of them, not afraid or bitter. Getting away from them might've been a secondary benefit.

It happened, on occasion, that a patient would return to her later with something to convey thanks. Money or sometimes artwork done by the family. The money she rejected, but any art went on her wall. One time she received a rather large macaroni statue of herself, complete with a 'wand' made of an Ash twig and red poppies for hair. It was a rather nice likeness, if Susan were being honest, except for the big noodly smile on the macaroni face.

She hadn't smiled in a long time.

Though, she realized, Ron had made her smile back at the cave. A couple of times actually. She made him smile too.

While they ate eggs and bacon and toast in comfortable silence, Susan decided Ron hadn't come to her out of gratitude. He'd come because he needed more Healing. The kind of healing he wasn't getting from his family or his friends or his recovery.

She was the one who healed his physical wounds, perhaps he came to see if she could heal the rest.

Which probably meant the poor guy was S.O.L. Shit outta luck. Her Aunt Amelia was a wordsmith when she was alive, a brilliant one at that. She could use the written word as effectively as others used a wand. Susan had no such talents.

Only a skill and desire to do physical healing.

"It was 7th year," she told him after taking a long time to chew on a bite of bacon, peeling herself open. His dull blue eyes widened and she continued. "When I realized my affinity for treating open wounds. Why I became a Wound Maven instead of going into another specialty."

"I… I heard some stories about that year," he frowned, eyes darting down to his mostly eaten eggs. Eggs he started pushing around with his fork instead of finishing.

She frowned too. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to remind him of that time. But before she could say anything more his eyes drooped heavily, his exhaustion catching up all at once. He dropped his fork but Susan was already standing up. She came beside him and grabbed his arm, pulling it over her shoulders while grabbing his opposite hand.

With a little nudge, he leaned into her, their fronts pressing together, and she helped him stand up. "I gotcha, Ron, I gotcha," she whispered in comfort.

"Sorry," he panted, all his energy in staying conscious. "Just… drop me on the couch, Bones. Don't worry about taking me all the way upstairs."

"Nice try," she snapped. "Who's the Healer? Oh right, me."

"You," he agreed with a pained smile. "And I'm the ninny."

"I'd rather a breathing Ninny than a dead one." She guided him the opposite way of the stairs and helped him dunk under the overhead through the door to the master.

"No, no," he tried to argue, but as he could barely stand, Susan had no trouble taking him to the bed. "This is your room."

"It's a big bed, Ron," she informed him, taking him to the side where she turned down the comforter earlier. "Are you going to make moves on me in the middle of the night?"

He shook his head vehemently, panic breaking through his exhaustion. "No-no-no-!"

"Shhh, I didn't think so," she lowered her voice, trying to soothe him. "You're safe with me, Ron. Remember? Certainly safe in my care. And if you want, I'd be perfectly fine taking the upstairs room. Go on, lay down now."

"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled but he did as she instructed. Laying his head down on the pillow.

"I told you, you don't have to apologize to me," she reminded him, pulling the comforter up to his shoulders.

"Right, I'm sor-" He nodded off.

Susan took a moment to check his pulse and found everything was a-okay. She'd told him a few times now, Healing was prickly business. She wasn't lying. It took a toll on the body the more severe the injuries were.

And Ron's had been the worst she'd ever seen.


	5. Chapter 5

She woke up the next morning when she heard the bedroom door squeak open. The bedside lamp was still on because she'd fallen asleep reading sometime after midnight. Morning was technically correct. The hour before the sun came up when Susan's brain could barely perform base functions was more on point.

The night before, she curled up in the upstairs bedroom after cleaning the dinner dishes and finding a book to read—and so what if she ended up checking on Ron an extra time or two. Every time she found him sleeping peacefully, his face relaxed and comfortable. It made him look younger, she thought.

Even better, knowing he was safe, and knowing that he felt safe in her home, enough to stay asleep anyway, helped her fall asleep too. The quilt was warm and familiar, the bed the same she slept with when she was a child and Susan would sleep in the upstairs bedroom while Amelia slept downstairs.

Though it had been long enough since she slept upstairs that she forgot about the squeak in the door hinge. Sitting up, she rubbed her face and watched Ron walk into the bedroom cautiously, wearing blue and yellow striped flannel pjs he hadn't gone to sleep in.

"Susie?" he whispered, on his tiptoes.

"Everything okay?"

"Pinch me."

She shook her head, looking down at her own pajama set. Blue and yellow polka dots. "Something you should know about me, Ron? I'm extra, extra mean before coffee in the morning. What's going on?"

"I'm just making sure I'm actually awake," he replied in an even quieter whisper.

"By waking _me_ up?" Maybe she'd been wrong about Ron wanting more healing. Maybe he was trying to get _murdered_ , to get put out of his misery. She would be more than happy to provide.

"Susie," he shushed as he reached the bed. "There's a dragon outside."

"Are you messing with me right now, Ron Weasley?" she asked, the jolt waking her up far more than a cup of coffee would. "Because if you're messing with me I'm gonna show you just how mean I can get."

"Yeah, yeah, all 206 bones and all, _c'mon_! There's a bloody dragon out there, let's go see it!"

He pulled her out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning. She barely had time to shove her feet into slippers and grab a sweater before he tugged her down the stairs and out through the front door.

Right into the brisk air of a Highland late summer morning. Their breath fogged as they breathed and the stars stretched out overhead, the night sky inky black between them. She could smell the rowan tree beside the house and the watery scent carried on the wind from the loch.

And a gentle acidic scent she'd never smelled before. It wasn't unpleasant in the least, almost earthy and musky and sharp all at the same time. Ron took her to the stone wall that lined the property where they knelt to their knees, shoulder to shoulder, and peered down towards the loch.

The dragon was not more than half a Quidditch pitch away, but seemed closer for its sheer size.

"Oh, my," Susan felt a tightness in her throat. "She's _beautiful_."

"A Hebridean Black?" Ron whispered in awe, crossing his arms over the top of the wall and resting his head, almost dreamily. "What is she doing on the mainland? … She's _huge_. Hebrideans can get up to 20 or 30 feet but she must be..."

"Twice that," Susan finished for him.

She then copied his position and watched as the dragon stretched out two massive wings, as dark as the night sky. There was only a sliver of the moon to light the land around them, but it was enough to illuminate the outline of her massive stature.

The underside looked more akin to bat wings, black leathery skin stretched out over taut muscles used to keep her in flight. The tips of her wings were thick, yet sharpened into tough points. She shook out her wings once, twice, before pulling them to her body.

Four legs, thick with bulging muscles and inky scales that absorbed light instead of reflecting it, stepped over the tall grass. Each leg narrowed into three sharp claws the size of small cars and both Ron and Susan could feel the vibration through the earth with each step.

They slowly ducked behind the wall, trying not to draw attention to themselves but she was too canny for that.

Her brilliant violet eyes turned in their direction, long slits for pupils narrow like a cat's, and Ron and Susan went as still as they could. Though Susan felt her heart begin to pound, mostly from excitement, but also because the cabin would provide little shelter should they rouse the dragon's anger in any fashion.

"The Ministry classifies Hebridean Blacks as extremely dangerous and un-tameable. DNA. Do Not Approach," he whispered to her quietly. "But my brother disagrees. Says they are proud but fickle, the same way a wild horse might be. They choose to obey or not, and mostly they choose not. But they aren't prone to picking fights unless provoked."

"So… as long as we stay way over here?"

"She might leave us alone… or she might eat us," he grinned at her.

"You're terrible," she grinned back.

And the dragon's mouth fell open as if to smile too. Her face was decidedly feminine, if scary. Two curled horns protruded out from her scaly head on either side of her eyes, rising up like a crown. Her snout was long and curled into two impressive rows of very sharp teeth from where a forked tongue rolled out, like a happy dog. Except where on a mutt the effect would be charming, it made the dragon seem haughty and untroubled.

Which made Susan feel incredibly small. Susan followed Ron's lead in staying as still as possible, not making any movements at all. That dragon could swallow her and Ron in one bite without a second thought. The Hebridean watched for a long while without moving, a majestic shadow against the mountain side.

A group of clouds drifted over the moon, casting a shadow across the valley, and broke the spell that held the three of them in thrall. The dragon huffed, bringing the scent of fire and brimstone to Ron and Susan, then she turned and looked out over the loch, wings spreading out again. This time in show. Preening, her tail swept out with a powerful swing, giving them her backside.

She lifted up on her back legs and spread both wings out to their full extent, a move that made Ron and Susan gasp in unison. The dragon knew she had an audience and wanted to impress by demonstrating her grace and beauty.

"That is the biggest dragon I've ever seen with my own two eyes," Ron said, still in complete awe.

"She's pregnant," Susan pointed out when the Hebridean came back to all fours, spotting the swollen belly beneath the dragon's body. She might've been overprotective, but her behavior clearly stated she didn't think Ron and Susan were a threat.

She seemed to say, see how big and strong I am? Don't even bother trying to mess around.

"Ohh," Ron whispered excitedly, sitting up to get a better look. "Yes, Hebridean's prefer to lay their eggs underneath lakes. Or lochs. Same thing really. Oh, this is brilliant. I can't wait to tell my brother about this."

They continued to watch the dragon, watch as she scouted the lake with a thorough eye, each step sending vibrations all the way to the cabin, before she waded in, causing waves that lapped at the shore. She blended seamlessly into the black water before disappearing all together beneath the surface.

" _Brilliant_ ," Ron whispered again. "She'll be down there for a week at least."

"So long?" Susan turned around and sat in the grass, back pressed against the stone wall.

He joined her, smile wide across his face. Shoulder to shoulder. "Yeah. It'll take her day or two to lay one egg, and she'll lay three eggs at most. But probably 2. Maybe 3. I hope 3. Oh man, I hope 3!"

He was giddy with excitement, practically bouncing up and down.

"How do you and your brother…?"

"Charlie," he turned his head to smile at her. "He studies dragons Romania, though he's been on assignment in Manitoba the last few months looking after a family of Huddy Blues. He and I can get into lengthy conversations, any time, any place, about dragons. Drives my mum bonkers."

Susan reaffirmed her earlier thought; she much preferred this passionate, cheerful version of Ron. Chocolate Frog cards, dragons… she wanted to learn more about them simply because of his excitement. It was infectious.

"What's your favorite kind?"

"Norweigan Ridgeback," he answered immediately. "Though I got bit by one once, a baby mind you, and that poison was wicked, but still... they're crazy intelligent."

His passion fueled a fervent conversation about dragons that lasted until the sun came up.

"I work at, or rather, used to work at the Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hermione and I were trying to work together to get some changes made, but it's a constant battle. Half the people in my department would gladly see anything _not_ wizardkind wiped off the face of the earth. The other half just want an excuse to get their hands on rare creatures so they can breed or sell them for gold. Makes me sick to my stomach. You know Veelas are still legally 'creatures' and so they can't get access to basic stuff like marriage licenses or wands? They have to fill out all sorts of paperwork. They tried to annul my brother's marriage because he married a half-Veela. 'Magine being told your marriage isn't real because your wife is half-Veela. It's not like he married a gerbil. Obviously they're genetically compatible, they got three kids now. Honestly."

Susan listened with interest and watched as Ron turned his head and peered over the stone wall, looking to the loch. "I'm glad she came at night, hopefully no one saw her. I know some real cretins who would take her eggs if they could. Dragon breeding gets my blood rolling, Bones. I used to think it was just because the Ministry didn't want to keep sending people out to obliviate Muggles who had spotted a dragon in some moron's back yard. But dragons are creatures of solitude, and territorial to boot. They don't share space well and breeding overcrowds them. Outlawed in 1709, and it's only now we're starting to see them bounce back. I mean, look at that Hebridean. She's _huge_. But that's the size she's _supposed_ to be. Over breeding made them smaller, and sicker too in some cases."

"I'm glad someone works there that's passionate about keeping them safe," she told him with a yawn.

"Yeah, except… I haven't worked in months… maybe I should go back?"

He only just realized it. "If I didn't have work, I would go crazy," she said. "They might let you go back part time, that'll keep you occupied at least. Purpose can provide distraction."

"Purpose can provide distraction, purpose can provide distraction… hmmm…"

"You're terribly cute when you talk to yourself, Ron," she said without thinking.

Almost immediately his cheeks and neck turned bright red.

"Come on," she said quickly, hopping up on her feet. "I'm cold. And I need coffee, can't think straight when I haven't had coffee."

He looked like a fish as he followed her back into the cabin, his mouth opening and closing over and over again, never figuring out what to say. Before she could put coffee on the stove to brew, he stepped in front of her and began assembling the drip coffee pot for her.

And she let him, because it felt wonderful to have someone else make her coffee.

"That's not new," he observed.

"No, it's probably as old as the house is," she told him quietly, looking at the old fashioned coffee pot and remembering when her aunt would use it to make the strong drink early in the mornings. Amelia had gotten Susan addicted to caffeine at an early age, but mostly it was the smell she loved. It was the smell that reminded her of mornings she couldn't get back.

Blinking, she realized Ron had said something further. "What was that?"

"I meant, uhm," he gestured at his red ears. "It's not new, I mean I've always gotten red around women. Especially good looking ones."

It took three seconds exactly for Susan to realize he meant _she_ was the good looking woman. She turned, pretending to look around. Which brought out a boisterous laugh from him.

"You're something else, Bones. How d'you like your coffee?"

"In multiples. You should write a letter to your brother about this morning. While it's all fresh in your mind."

"That's a great idea, do you have parchment or paper?"

"Sure, in the master, at my aunt's desk."

"Ah, I uh-I don't want to intrude… more than I already have anyways," he seemed suddenly nervous.

"Don't be silly, Ron," she took her fresh coffee and led him to the bedroom. "That desk hasn't been used for writing letters in many years now. You won't be intruding on a thing."

Susan set him up at the old piece of furniture, an ancient writing desk made of some type of black wood. She had to knock on the desk over the front drawer and ask politely to get it to open, a trick that had taken her years to figure out. Quill, ink, parchment all presented itself obediently.

Ron sat in the matching chair looking a bit uncomfortable, but not ill. The morning had done him a lot of good, making his eyes seem brighter, his cheeks flushed. Be it from the dragon, or their sad attempts at flirting, the morning had definitely done him some good. But still, he seemed pensive.

"I dunno, Susie," he grimaced. "This kinda feels like being in my dad's garage uninvited."

She stood by the desk looking down at him and felt the overwhelming urge to tease him. "Well, Ron, if you look around, you will find you are not in a garage. You're in my bedroom."

He flushed even redder. "Susie…"

"My aunt wrote many letters during her tenure on the Wizengamot, but as far as I know, she wrote only personal letters when we stayed here. Which makes this a perfect place for you to write to your brother. Take your time, I'm going to snooze for a bit since someone decided to wake me up far too early."

"There was a dragon!"

"Yeah, yeah," she laughed at his enthusiasm again. "Wake me up if you need anything."

"What if I need-" he cut off and she paused at the door, looking back at him.

"Yes, Ron?"

"Uhm," he bit down on his lip nervously, which she suddenly found incredibly sexy. "Never mind, have a good nap, Bones."

"Thanks, you too," she said automatically, too distracted by the cute way he chewed on his bottom lip.

She was halfway up the stairs when she realized what she said and how _embarrassing_ it was. "Argh!"


	6. Chapter 6

Susan slept for a few hours and woke up feeling refreshed and relaxed. Her muscles were loosening and a sense of calmness replaced that fast pace state of mind of working at the hospital. It was nice sleeping in the upstairs room, bringing back memories of summers with her Aunt. Remembering the good things for once… instead of being miserly in her grief.

She showered, giving it 5 minutes before she hopped in, and afterwards she took her time brushing out and braiding her unruly hair. It wasn't curly, not at all. Just voluminous and honestly too long. She often didn't put in the time necessary to take care of it considering the length. Braiding it kept it manageable and made it easier to ignore all the split-ends that needed trimming.

But looking in the mirror, Susan thought she looked rather old, the tight braid making her seem more severe. With a huff, she redid the braid in a loose fashion, letting it down over her shoulder on one side. Except then she felt silly for trying so hard and undid it completely.

Where the sudden worry over her hair came from, Susan hadn't the faintest. In the end, she left it down and tried to push it out of her mind. Then she dressed warmly, thinking if Ron was up to it, she would take him into town to mail his letter and get some dinner.

But when she made it downstairs she couldn't find him, not in the kitchen or the living area, nor the master bedroom. Though her Aunt's desk had been cleared and the bed had been made up neatly.

She found him outside, sitting on the stone wall with his back to the house, looking out to the loch. He was soaking up the gentle afternoon sunlight, sleeves of his sweater rolled up and feet bare in the grass. He seemed as relaxed as she felt, and she did not want to startle him. Remaining in the doorway, she called out his name softly. It floated on the air to his ear and when he turned to her, his eyes were nearly as bright as the sky.

"Did you write your letter?" she asked, coming to stand a little behind and to the side of him.

"I did," he pulled a small envelope from his pocket, one addressed to a 'Charlie Weasley'. "Good idea, Bones."

She was really starting to enjoy it when he called her that. Her heart started pounding. "What do you feel like doing tonight?"

"I was hoping, if you, er, were still willing… if you wanted to…" Ron swallowed, eyes wincing as he tried to get it out. "Still want to… _talk_?"

Susan took his outstretched hand, and thought maybe he didn't realize he'd reached for her. He was startled for a moment when they touched before he tightened his hold around her fingers.

"Yes," she nodded. She sat on the wall so they were hip to hip, she facing the house and him facing the valley. "You can talk as much as you like."

Their fingers intertwined, the sun warm on their skin, and Ron looked at their hands for a long time before he began talking.

"Her name was Charlotte..."

The witch who had, at one point, seemed perfect for him in every way. They liked all the same things, had the same hobbies, wanted the same things in life. Or so he thought. She played him like a fiddle.

Their relationship and attraction was instant and all consuming. Until it wasn't. And then, well it was bad enough the dark witch had taken him, now his family couldn't seem to get past it. There was such a thing as over protective.

His story began in choppy bits, his thoughts coming randomly and not making any sense until he further explained, but as he grew more and more comfortable talking, as he realized Susan would not interrupt to ask questions or pass judgment or try to diagnose him, he relaxed into the conversation and let it come naturally.

Getting everything off his chest. Every bad panic attack, every nightmare he woke from in a cold sweat, every fight, some pointless, some not, with his family. How his parents didn't want him going back to work, and how he had to fight to remind them he was a 32 year old man with responsibilities. How sitting around being tired for no reason was more exhausting than getting back to work.

Or how Harry seemed to ignore all of Ron's new peculiar behaviors, trying to act like everything was normal. Like none of it ever happened. And how Hermione went the opposite route, all optimism, all the time until Ron was plum sick of the cheerful sunshine she put on full blast. Hermione never did anything half-assed apparently. Any attempt to talk about what happened was met with a forced smile and a, 'It'll all be fine!'.

He talked of how his brother Percy, who Ron referred to as Perce and then suggested the man remove the large stick from his posterior except not exactly in those words, chewed his ear off for asking after Susan first. Not say, their mother or father, or any other family members, or Harry even.

Before Susan could explain that he woke up when she first treated him Ron gave her such a shy smile. "I remember waking up, Susie. I remember seeing you, your red hair, seeing the freckles on your nose, and I felt so bloody relieved for the first time... Reminded me of my family. I mean, I know you aren't. My family that is. I mean-" he flustered, stumbling over his words. "I don't think of you as Family. I think of you as a normal girl. Woman. You know… lady… person, oh god just shut me up now, Susie."

She just smiled though, and gestured for him to keep going. Her fear being he would lose his momentum if she were to speak up. But she did squeeze his hand, just once, to convey she understood his meaning.

"I was relieved, because that was the first time since Charlotte took me that I knew I was safe, looking at you, seeing you..." He trailed off, his gaze soft as he watched her and a small smile playing on his lips.

"Did you know some dark witches get their power from the suffering of others?" he asked after a big breath, then his eyes glazed over as he looked out over the loch. His smile disappeared.

Susan knew very well. There'd been a case or two at Mungo's over the years. A little genetic quirk that popped up every few generations in magical families where a witch could draw power directly from the suffering of another living being, and channel it as effectively as most channeled through their wands.

There was a complex potion that could block such abilities, and most witches who learned they possessed said ability were more than eager to block it as most people would find it an anathema to harm others in such a way.

But those that didn't... they became Dark Witches.

"I wasn't the only thing in that room," he admitted, and for the first time he looked ashamed. "I haven't told this to anyone but... There were creatures too. House cats, rodents, a few toads. There was a knarl too, he died pretty quickly after I got there... And she brought in this bowtruckle, aww," he sniffed. "He was young. You know the little ones are more green-blue until they grow up, like a twig just formed, y'know?"

He trailed off again, and Susan had the sickening feeling that little bowtruckle never got the chance to grow up. Ron seemed genuinely upset by the suffering of the creatures he'd been imprisoned with and Susan wondered if Charlotte had done it all on purpose. The Dark Witch must've known Ron had a soft spot for animals and creatures and the like...

She might've used them to cause Ron even more suffering.

Ron shuddered and continued his story, "She got a lode from me, she could heal my cuts enough they wouldn't bleed out, but not well enough to escape any pain. And there was this spell she cast, a spell to… make me aroused… so she could... so she could… and hurt me at the same time… to fuel her magic… And I wasn't the first she did it to either. Just the one that lived through it. She'd tell me about them, to kill any morale on my part, I guess. She likes that. Despair... yeah... she likes that a lot..."

For the first time, Susan could tell he was heading towards panic. His pulse picked up and his breathing came quicker. "You know I used to be good at it? Sex, that is... used to be real good at it until she made me have sex with her. Never realized how badly it hurt when you don't... want it."

Susan was bothered deeply, and she spoke for the first time since he started speaking. And it was probably the wrong thing to say. "You mean, she raped you."

It wasn't a question, but Ron shook his head no, and as she suspected, it broke the bubble around them that made it easy for him to talk. "I'm a guy," he dismissed. "You can't… guys can't be…"

"Ron," she squeezed his fingers again. "Call it what it is."

He stared at her for a long time, stunned in horror and the realization clear on his face.

"No," he pulled his hand away, panic coming out in full force. "Men can't be raped."

"I apologize Ron, I'm not trying to be confrontational," she bit down on her lip. She was not good at this. She shouldn't have opened her mouth. "Rape is, by definition, when someone forces sexual intercourse on someone else. Did you want to have sex with her?"

"No, no of course not!" he shouted. "I didn't want it!"

On the tail of his words Ron stood up and started pacing back and forth just beyond the wall. His fists curled over and over again in time with his huffs. "Why would I want that? I didn't ask for it!"

"You didn't," Susan reminded him gently. "This is not your fault, Ron. You didn't do anything to deserve this, you aren't to be blamed for someone else's actions. _Any_ of them."

All the things she was taught to say to a sexual assault survivor and Susan couldn't help but ask, "Ron, are you saying this isn't a subject you and your therapist discussed?"

"No," he shook out his hands over and over again, taking deep breaths as he fought off his panic attack. "I never thought of it that way. I never thought… it never made sense but I didn't even..."

His breaths came faster as he paced. "Why did she do this to me?"

That's what it all boiled down to. What any sexual assault victim wanted to know. Why it happened to them. And Susan despaired for not knowing how to answer, because often there wasn't one. And for acknowledging the sad truth—that Ron's pain wasn't a wound to heal. It wasn't an injury that could be stitched up with magic, a tumor to be cut out, or a burn she could salve.

"Ron," Susan stood up. "Scream it out."

He panted, eyes starting to water, before he looked at her.

She repeated, "Just scream it out."

"What?"

"Look around," she gestured to the valley and the loch beyond. The mountains that surrounded them. The sky above. "No one's here. No one can hear you. Scream it out. Get it all out. Every last bit of it."

Ron looked around as if to make sure she was right, that there weren't other people, some random family or hikers, around to see him screaming like a loon. It took long enough he became uncertain, so she gave his shoulder a little shove. Just a small one.

"Go on then!"

Yeah, she was way better at tough love. Way better.

"Oh alright!" he threw his hands in the air and took a deep, deep breath.

She had just enough time to cover her ears before he let out a huge bellow. It rang out through the valley, echoing off the mountains, and lingering long after he finished screaming. After the sound finally died down, Ron partially collapsed, bracing himself on his knees as he bent over. Though he continued to pant, his breaths were more controlled and even.

He looked up at her. And smiled. "That's the first time," he paused to keep breathing. "First time that I stopped a panic attack before it happened."

Susan smiled too. "Good. Good."

"That echo is… brilliant," he continued, standing up straight. "Did you know it would do that?"

"I hadn't a clue."

"You try."

Her? Well, she was the one that opened the door by suggesting he shout. It would only be fair to join in. She didn't feel like screaming but she did spend several years on the Hogwarts Choir. A cool breeze brushed through the valley and over them, as if daring her. Gearing up, Susan inhaled, and then let out a long note, putting as much power behind it as she could. Much like Ron's shout, hers hit the mountains and made a harmony of echoes that lasted a few minutes.

Only for him to add another note before the silence could continue. His voice was just slightly lower than hers, and warmer, she thought, as it spread through the mountains. Neither of them would be cutting any record deals soon, but it wasn't bad either. Which was good, because they went at it for at least an hour. Going high, going low. Laughing between silly notes and a few disaster attempts at a yodel.

Ron smiled the entire time and when the last of the sound died out, too faint for their ears to hear, he walked over and hugged her over the wall.

"Thank you, Susie."

"What are friends for if not to yodel in the Scottish Highlands?"

His hands pressed into her back as he laughed and his beard tickled her neck as they hugged. She was just tall enough to rest her chin over his shoulder, like two pieces fitting together quite nicely. And she couldn't help but sigh in his arms.

"Okay there?" he asked, breath brushing against her ear.

"Yeah, been awhile since I had a hug actually," she admitted. "Never mind a proper one."

Her admission spurred Ron, who had so far proven to be adverse to physical touch, to hold on a little longer. A little tighter.

And then his hands came up to her cheeks, the tips of his fingers sliding into her loose hair as he tilted her face up towards his. There wasn't but a few inches between them, and it was not enough to quench her dread. She thought, briefly, that he would lean in and kiss her and she would be forced to ruin their friendship that had only just begun by rejecting him.

It wasn't anything to do with him, or what he'd been through, though it certainly gave her pause. It was her, and the fact that she couldn't open up to anyone after the day her Aunt died. Something that Susan learned the hard way after a few too many sour relationships.

Just when she went to pull away, Ron seemed to decide something. "I'm going to cook you dinner."

"Is that a fact?" She brought her hands up to his, fingers wrapping around his wrists. The tactile feeling of his palms against her cheeks might've been enough to start a slight tremble in her frame. And she wasn't sure if she wanted more or not.

It had been a very long time since anyone had held her. Strange that it was this man, who probably needed holding more than she did.

"It's a warning," he grinned, a little lopsided. "I can't cook to save my life. And that's a proven fact."

"Proven? Because then you'd be dead, Ron. And that's not acceptable to me."

She was trying hard not to flirt back—and finding it incredibly difficult not to. The longer Ron held her the more she enjoyed it.

"Okay, not dead from starvation," he said a little obviously. "But I would be if it weren't for someone else's efforts. That someone else being Hermione Jean Granger. I have a penchant for getting rescued by exceptional witches with freckles on their noses."

Susan tightened her fingers around his wrist, watching his face carefully for any discomfort. She saw none. What she did see was the Ron she preferred. The playful, cheerful guy who wondered at the wonders of the world and flirted with her over bacon and eggs and coffee.

"I didn't rescue you, Ron. I just made sure you stayed alive _after_ you were rescued. And… for your information… my freckles..." She only had a few. Right across her nose and cheeks mostly, and a single dark one on her ring finger—a trait she apparently inherited from her mother. "They aren't up for discussion."

She hadn't meant for it to be a challenge, a flirty one at that. But it came out as one anyway.

Thumbs brushed over her cheeks. "Shame," he whispered as if he would enjoy doing just that.

Then she really did tremble and her grip on his wrists wasn't to keep herself standing upright, it was to make sure he kept holding her. "Ron… if you're going to kiss me…"

"I'm trying right now to work up the nerve, it's taking longer than I thought," he admitted with a small laugh. "Remember? I'm a ninny."

"Ninny or not… Well, I mean to say, any _thing_ … between us better not be out of gratitude."

He seemed confused. "What d'ya mean?"

"If you're grateful to me for doing my job, for healing you, then you can make a donation to the hospital, or send a card, or a finger painting or—"

"Finger painting?"

"A gift usually given to me by children I've healed," she shrugged softly in his hold. "But there's always a first time for everything."

Ron continued brushing his thumbs over her cheeks, 'working up the nerve' apparently. "A gift… I should've gotten you something for saving my rear end, instead you're here saving me again. And it bloody well does make me thankful for you, Susan Bones, you who most certainly rescued me as much as any of my family did. And I _am_ gonna kiss you… I just have to stop being a damn ninny—"

"Shut up," she snapped, raising her voice in his much surprised face. "Shut it. I stitched up and weaved magic through every last one of your wounds. Every one of them. She had you for 18 days, harvesting your pain like an evil leech and you survived when she didn't, even though she was bloated with power. _You_ survived and she didn't. You are _not_ a ninny, Ron Weasley—"

He crashed into her. Not rough, but suddenly. Kissing her with warmth and tenderness, her face in his hands, and mouths and tongue melding together in a perfect first kiss. He released her with the softest wet sound, stepping back.

But Susan remained in place, completely dazed and lips tingling, wondering why he stopped and missing the feeling of his beard against her skin and confused as to why she went from not wanting him to kiss her at all to mad that he wasn't still doing it.

A shaking hand came to rest on her chest and Susan realized, belatedly, that it was her own. And when she looked down the path that led from her cabin, she spotted a squat man with a brown bowler hat, a bushy mustache under his nose, and a long trench coat in standard tan, none of which really fit the man's frame all that well. He had squished up brown eyes that were looking right at her.

"Hello there! Yoo-whoo!" He waved as he bustled up the hill. "Hello!"


	7. Chapter 7

It was the first time in Susan's life that she had ever seen anyone approach her cabin that wasn't her Aunt, or Ron Weasley, her one and only guest. Why the hell did it have to happen the very moment when she was on the receiving end of the sweetest kiss she'd ever had before?

"Can I help you? This is private property," she informed the man and didn't care one bit she sounded as prickly as a cactus.

"Ms. Bones?" The man asked, without hesitating, his smile full of fake sincerity. "Toddy Sallow here! From the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures! And—"

The man finally noticed Ron, his tiny eyes going round. "Oh…Weasley! You're here!"

"I'm here," he moaned tragically. "What're you doing here, Sallow?"

Susan realized Ron might've, at one point, worked with this man and that might account for his rudeness towards Mr. Toddy Sallow, or maybe he was as upset at the interruption of their kiss as she was?

Maybe both.

"What am _I_ doing here? Surely you mean to say what are _you_ doing here? You are aware people think you've been kidnapped again, I hope? Been missing since yesterday? Did…" the mustachioed man pointed at her. "Is she the one that kidnapped you?"

"What? No!" Ron shouted, marching down to Mr. Sallow and grabbing the man by his coat jacket. "You think Susan kidnapped me? I left a bloody note! Can't a bloke go away for the weekend with a pretty girl without everyone losing their minds?! I was kissing her! Sallow! It took me near 5 minutes to work up the courage to kiss her! Do you see her?! She's _beautiful_! And she was letting _ME_ kiss her! You idiot! WHY DID YOU INTERRUPT?!"

Toddy Sallow finally lost his smile—and his hat. He looked up at Ron, who was much taller than him, and said, "I-I-I was sent to confirm the sighting of a Hebridean Black in this area and ensure no Muggles caught sight of it! That's all!"

"There-are-no-Muggles-here," Ron snapped out each word, shaking Toddy. "And there's _no_ magical creatures near by either!"

"How do you know where my home is?" Susan asked, thinking it was the far more important question.

"I er-" he visibly gulped. Ron rattled him around until he he was forced to grab his hat. "Alright! Alright!"

Ron pushed him away and crossed his arms expectantly. "Let's hear it then, go on."

"I might have _convinced_ Glenn Kershaw in the Housing Registrars to slip me the location," Toddy admitted.

"Convinced?" Ron spat. "You mean bribe, Kershaw is a sap."

"Why is it everyone can be persuaded to give away my location?" Susan frowned, but Toddy kept talking.

"Is it true? Was there a Hebridean here? Did you see it, Weasley!? If it's on the mainland, it might be laying eggs!"

The man's enthusiasm clearly disgusted Ron, and Susan remembered what he said about his department and the kind of people who worked there. "No, we didn't see any dragons. I've told you a million times, Dragon Breeding was outlawed by the Warlock's Convention in 1709, if I find you with another egg Sallow, I'm not going to quietly hand it off to my brother again. I'll take your name to Harry, don't think I won't."

"The Aurors?" he gulped.

"Yes the bloody Aurors!" Ron shouted. "Get the hell outta here!"

Susan returned to the house after watching Toddy trip backwards on his own coat, and walked absently into the master bedroom. It bothered her to know someone had been bribed to give away her cabin's whereabouts, the registrar's office was supposed to be secure, secure enough to ensure privacy. And it also bothered her that Ron's family thought he was in trouble, when he'd only been staying with her for the weekend. Staying with her on a whim, with one crazy, last minute invitation.

Ron followed only a minute later after a stern telling off to Toddy. He started huffing as if agitated as he paced behind her, muttering about dragon fanatics and what some people would do to get even a sight of one.

She might've been agitated too… but more than that she felt misplaced. Letting Ron kiss her had felt akin to letting down her biggest of walls, revealing bits of herself even she hadn't seen in awhile. To have it interrupted so suddenly...

"I'm behind you," he announced. "Susie?"

"You should go home," she turned, and found it harder to face him. "If your family is worried after you. There's an Inn in town, you can Apparate there, take the Floo to London or—"

"Stop," Ron held up a hand. "I know how to get home. I'm not stuck here."

"I won't have Patrolmen busting through my door because they think I took you against your will."

She thought she'd have to deal with his anger some more. Instead he laughed. Throwing his head back, Ron let out the boisterous sound and it made her toes curl.

Oh God. She was in trouble.

"C'mon, that prat out there? Toddy isn't Magical Law Enforcement, he's one of the morons in our department that thinks taming dragons is achievable. Not that he would ever be able to accomplish such a feat, lazier than a dead brick that one. And, if you recall, I'm the loon that crashed your vacation! No one made me come here."

"Oh, believe me, I am more than aware of that fact."

"So prickly, Susie..." His face fell. "Don't send me away."

"You won't leave if I ask you to?" she asked, knowing full well she didn't want him to leave at all and not sure why she was being so pettish about it.

"If you really want me gone, yeah, I suppose—" his bright blue eyes lifted and pierced right through her. "You know what? No. I've changed my mind. I won't leave."

"Excuse me?"

"I admit to being a bit thick when it comes to women," he said, rapping his knuckles against the side of his head. "12 Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches ultimately did me more harm than good in the long run, but I think-no- _I know_ you liked kissing me just now."

He pointed at her when he said the words 'I know' and as she didn't much care for being pointed at, she instinctively pushed his hand away. The physical contact sent a mass of anomalous tingles up her hand and up her arm that lasted far longer than the touch did.

Ron looked down at his own hand as if he felt the tingles too. Nerve endings firing? Nothing they did should cause such a physical reaction—and Susan would know.

She's a Wound Maven. She knew exactly how to knit nerves back together. How to connect them to tissue, how to heal skin and muscle, regenerate and grow organs and bones, how to treat and replace blood. She'd put up with and handled a lot in her 14 years as a Healer. But she did not know how to handle Ron Weasley kissing her.

"Susan." He stepped a little closer. She took a step back. What did that mean? 'Bones' he called her, when he was being goofy and feeling relaxed. 'Susie' he called her softly when they were discussing serious matters.

What the _hell_ did 'Susan' mean, and why did it make her neck feel so hot? Why were her toes curling _again_?!

Why was she so flustered? "I don't think, I don't know that, well, that it- _the kiss_ -was long enough for me to, uh, come up with a fully formed opinion… Ron…"

"What about a half formed opinion?" He took another step. "First impressions?"

She stepped back and the back of her legs hit the bottom edge of the bed, her blood pressure rising enough she could feel each thump of her heartbeat. "Well, my first impression…"

"Yeah…?"

"When you kissed me…"

"Yeah Susan?" he stepped so close to her that their knees brushed together.

"Was that I… rather liked it…" she gulped as she leaned back to peer up at his scruffy face. Any farther and she would fall right over, which might've been preferable, except then she'd be lying on a bed in front of him when he was giving her that look.

Such a look Susan was completely incapable of deciphering.

"Liked it," Ron repeated with a grin.

"But, kissing me again wouldn't be a very good idea, Ron."

"Because of... earlier?" He meant the talking, what he shared.

Which would undoubtedly be an easy way to get out of this disaster 'kiss' situation. His trauma was very real, and she did not want to take advantage of the trust they had built. But she couldn't lie either. Susan didn't care to take that path, the path of convenience, by telling him her reservation came from his trauma. But neither was she able to do as Ron had earlier, to talk as he had, revealing all her hurts to him the way he did to her.

And that was so much harder to explain.

"Because…" she started, hoping the rest would fall out of her mouth without effort. "Because..."

"Oh, what the name of Merlin's left saggy tit does he think he's doin'?" Ron shouted at the window, causing Susan to jump.

She turned to look as Ron ran from the room, and spotted through the windows down by the loch the top of a bowler hat and a wand in the air. Then she ran too. Ron was right. Toddy Sallow's an _idiot_. Why anyone thought it was a good idea to get into even an average dragon's face was beyond her. But the dragon she and Ron spotted last night, or rather early that morning, was no average dragon.

She burst through the front door with no regards when the door slammed into the portrait of her and Aunt Amelia. Stumbling several steps down the hill, she realized she didn't have her wand and turned for the house again.

Amelia got another bang as Susan ran at a full sprint up the stairs, frantically searching through the bed, then her bag, then finally the bathroom before finding the Ash wand on the sink counter. She grabbed it and bolted down the stairs and through the front door not even half a minute later. Down by the loch, Ron chased after Toddy who still had his wand raised in the air.

"You leave that dragon alone Sallow! I mean it!" he shouted, out of breath.

As Susan rushed down the slope towards them, she realized Ron would have easily overtaken Toddy if he'd been in better shape. And if the man wasn't continuously darting in and out of the shallow end of the loch. Ron seemed to be avoiding the water's edge at all costs.

"So," Toddy gasped for air. "You admit there's a dragon! I knew it!"

"Leave her alone, SALLOW!"

" _HER_?"

"IF I HAD MY WAND YOU'D BE ON FLAT ON YOUR ARSE SALLOW!" Ron shouted, kicking dirt and grass. He then bent over and grabbed a rock, lobbing it right at Toddy's head. The sleek rock soared through the air and knocked off Toddy's bowler with a satisfying thump. The brown hat plunked down into the water, protecting the head as it's supposed to do but leaving Toddy unharmed, if sporting some rather bad hat hair.

The giddy man, clearly not thinking about anything other than any eggs that may or may not be at the bottom of the loch, then rushed deeper into the water, until it came over his knees. He lifted his wand, and shouted, " _ACCIO EGG_!"

Susan, slightly out of breath, arrived next to Ron and held up her wand. "What do we do?"

Ron curled his fists, face as red as a radish, and he kicked the ground once again. "LET HIM BE EATEN, THEN! YOU BLOODY IDIOT I'M TRYING TO SAVE YOUR LIFE!"

Except as the smooth surface of the water began to churn and bubble, Ron grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her back at least 20 feet. "Susie," he said, his voice full command despite his anger. "Can you intercept the egg? I don't have my wand."

"What are you going to do?" she snapped, watching him rush forward again. "Ron!"

"Do it, Susie!" he shouted over his shoulder, running towards Toddy. "NOW!"

With no more time left, Susan pointed her wand towards the loch as an inky black, scaled egg just slightly bigger than Pepper, her neighbor's miniature Schnauzer, shot from the frothing water towards Toddy. It seemed more frail than she would've imagined, the only other time she saw a dragon's egg was during her 4th year. And that egg had been fake.

" _Accio Egg_!" she called, just as two curled horns emerged from the dark water, which seem to waver before the tension broke over the Hebridean's scaled body.

She hurriedly pocketed her wand as the egg shifted trajectory over Toddy's hat hair and towards her. She caught the egg with both hands. It felt almost spongy, the scales not quite fully formed. She knew from long ago lessons by her Care of Magical Creatures professor that it took only a few days before the egg's shell would harden and protect the embryo inside from nearly everything.

But now, holding it, Susan thought a bare squeeze would easily destroy the egg, and Susan felt her resolve harden where the egg had not. Toddy was no better than the shameful parents who brought their kids in with some lame excuse. _She fell down the stairs. He fell off his broomstick._ The young should be protected. Not harmed. Not _used_.

The dragon rose from the loch, sheets of water pouring off her scales and shooting into the air as her giant wings snapped open. If Susan thought the Hebridean looked beautiful before, she was absolutely gorgeous rising in the sunlight. Her scales shimmered like black diamonds, sparkling with every graceful movement. The underside of her belly, still puffed out, was more a dusty greyish than black in color.

A stunning work of art that Susan had no time to admire.

And her eyes were even more brilliant, large purple gems with absolutely no pupil in sight. And unlike when she spotted Susan and Ron earlier that morning, hostile. She was angry. And had every right to be so. Toddy had stolen her egg. Except Susan had stolen the egg from Toddy.

Uh oh.

She ran for the loch. Ron ran for Toddy. Toddy ran for Susan. And the Hebridean rose into the air with a roar that echoed off the mountains. The ground beneath her feet rumbled, the air shivered, and Susan could only run. Several strides it took her before she reached the water. She didn't bother trying to put distance between herself and Toddy, who was running straight at her with his eyes trained greedily on the egg in her hands.

Susan ran three times a week, four if she had the time, and she had no doubts she could outrun Toddy even over the uneven terrain around the loch. But she couldn't hold the egg and use her wand, she needed Ron, who was sorely out of shape, to catch up and handle Toddy while she returned the egg.

So she bolted for the loch, keeping a hold on the precious cargo in her arms.

"I jus' want the bleedin' egg!" Toddy shouted as he ran at her.

" _Don't-do it-Susie!_ " Ron panted, struggling to keep up.

"Gimme the egg, I've got gold! Mi nan's jewels! Anything!" he yelled at her, still running as he pleaded.

Another few steps and they would collide. Susan felt a rush of air as the dragon flew higher in the air, another roar drowning out the rest of Toddy's pathetic pleas. Last second she spun around Toddy's outstretched hand and darted the opposite direction along the loch, the change so fast Toddy fell over over on his face as he attempted to catch her.

" _Fuck. You_." She snapped as she rushed by him, then past Ron, and towards the Northern side of the lake.

She heard Ron grab a hold of Toddy but she was sprinting away and missed whatever they said. The path that had taken her and Ron nearly an hour the day before went by in only a few minutes and just before she crested the ledge where they stopped to drink water and eat granola bars, she cradled the egg to her chest and looked to the sky.

The Hebridean stretched out across the impossible blue, blocking out the sun, and breathing hot air that blew Susan's hair off her shoulder. She had just enough time to kick off her socks and shoes.

She dove.

Cold water rushed past her ears but even under water she could hear the dragon roar again. Her swimming was slowed as she couldn't use both her arms, the egg tucked up against her chest with her left hand. But she kicked her legs, angling downward through the darkened water. A shadow moved across the loch floor before disappearing altogether. The sun lit up the water around her and Susan spotted a nest of rocks at the very bottom.

It was deep, a good 20, maybe 25 feet down, but she pushed onward, kicking as hard as she could until she reached the jagged rocks that formed a rough circle. It seemed they were purposely made spiky to warn off any other wildlife, and Susan could see where one big rock had knocked over when Toddy summoned the egg. All around the nest was the indention in the loch's bed of something large, perhaps a mother guarding her egg.

The shadow moved over the loch again and Susan felt the current push past her. As if something big had just jumped into the water. Her hair floated into her face which she frantically pushed away.

At least the dragon couldn't set her on fire, so that was a plus. She would just eat Susan instead.

Trying her best not to rush, Susan pulled away a few rocks before gently situating the egg back into its nest, feeling satisfied it didn't seem harmed in the least. The tightness in her chest was her brain's way of warning her she needed oxygen sooner rather than later as she picked up her pace. She tucked the rocks around the scaled egg and turned, prepared to kick off the loch floor and swim for the top.

But upon turning, she met, face to face, with the Hebridean and screamed out the last of her air. Flailing back, she tried to kick off but she'd floated too far away and kicked at nothing but water. But when she moved, the dragon's mouth opened in a snarl, a deep rumble making the water vibrate between them. She stilled as Mama Dragon snapped her many rows of teeth at Susan, panic setting in.

Susan looked down at the egg and then back to the dragon. Up close she could see the majority of her face was made of small blackened spikes and her rows of teeth looked far bigger. Sharp, very _pointy_ teeth, yellowed from age.

Her chest actively started burning, her body begging for air, but Susan remained completely still. Bright purple filled her field of vision, ranging in all shades of the jeweled color and reminding Susan most of stained glass from the way it bubbled beneath the surface, distorting the colors.

The eyes watching her flicked down to the nest, so close Susan could reach out to touch them. But blackness began to bleed out on the edges of her vision, her throat moving to suck in air and finding only water instead.

The Hebridean's eyes narrowed on Susan once again, her snout parting to reveal another row of teeth. The dragon's throat heaved and a giant air bubble burst from her mouth and engulfed Susan with bruising force. Sputtering, she was thrown backwards, back hitting the loch's floor as she coughed. She only had a second or two before the air bubble began to rise, and the air she breathed in tasted of sulfur and heat. But it was enough.


	8. Chapter 8

It took a few minutes, but Susan finally swam to shore. Her hair stuck to the side of her face. Her muscles ached and breathing hurt. Somewhere along the way she lost her wand, but she crawled out of the shallow water on all fours and collapsed into a patch of grass very much alive.

The dragon saved her. She might've had a concussion from the force of that air bubble, but a concussion she could handle. Maybe. If she got a wand. And didn't fall asleep. Or have delayed drowning.

Her mind cycled through the many weird things that could happen to a body that almost drowned as she attempted to sit up. And then she had a thought. It was a very good thing her Aunt Amelia insisted on swimming lessons, because otherwise Susan might've been dinner. But, she supposed, everyone was potentially dragon food if given the right circumstance. Reaching up, she felt the backside of her head and found a deep cut, fingers turning sticky.

"Great," she fell back into the grass and tried to breathe. It hurt, her lungs protesting after all the abuse. She shoved the pain to the back of her mind though, and tried to focus on the fact that she was alive.

Her mind continued to jump from thought to thought, but now she was stuck on Amelia. On late nights when sessions ran late and her aunt would return home with take out boxes. On summer days at the cabin, running through the grass and swimming in the loch. On the random lessons she would drag Susan too, saying everyone had a hidden skill and it was their job to find out what it was.

Which resulted in horseback riding lessons, which went horribly, and tap dancing class, which wasn't so bad at all, and a rock climbing instructor that Susan still went to even years later.

Her mind went to the nights when Susan wondered what life would've been like if they hadn't been the only two left in their family and how it was only after Amelia died that Susan realized what a little punk she'd been as a child. As if she had been telling her aunt she wasn't good enough. Not good enough to raise Susan. Not good enough to be family.

Maybe she hadn't had a mother and father, but she did have Amelia. And Susan couldn't remember once ever saying how much she appreciated her aunt for everything she did. Everything she gave to Susan.

Everything she gave up.

"Thanks for the swimming lessons, Auntie," Susan called to the darkening sky. "Sorry I'm such a shite."

It was strange that her life flashed before her eyes after her near death experience and not before. And it didn't happen in an instant, but rather long enough that the sun finished dipped behind the cliffs and mountains in the west. It was the fading light that finally had her finding the energy to sit up.

Because Toddy might not have given up and Ron admitted he didn't have his wand. But no sooner had Susan sat up than she heard soft footsteps nearby. She turned her head and saw a dark headed man approaching her with a lit wand.

"Susan?"

The wand light hurt her eyes but she thought that voice was familiar… "Harry? Harry Potter? What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you obviously, though, to be honest we all thought you were eaten by a dragon," he told her solemnly. His wand lowered and she got a better look at his face. He looked exactly the same as the last time she saw him at school. Youthful, green eyes, glasses, black hair. He asked, "Are you okay?"

Well in fact, she almost was eaten by dragon.

"There's um," she coughed, lungs feeling cloudy. "Definitely water in my lungs, no surprise there, and I think I have a concussion. Is Ron alright?"

Harry turned to raise his wand and waved the light back and forth. Susan looked in the direction of her cabin, which was merely a small dot across the loch. She saw, all along the shore, several other lights waving back at them.

"Oh he's a bit of a mess lately, but I think he'll be better now. Nearly killed that Sallow bloke though, kinda worried for him actually. Sallow, not Ron. Ron'll be fine," Harry finished mostly to himself.

"I don't suppose you know the spell to draw water from the lungs?"

"Er… I could summon it?" he suggested with a wince that said otherwise.

"Please don't, you'll make my lungs collapse if you do," she warned.

"Okay. Not doing that," he offered her a smile and a help up.

"I lost my wand in the water, but better leave it for now," she told him, taking his hand when she realized she couldn't stand on her own.

She had the kind of headache that meant concussion, and she felt sticky blood on her neck and in her hair. She felt for her cut again, found it seeping blood but it wasn'tterribly urgent. It would need dressing up sooner rather than later, but not immediately.

"Now, a wand I can summon," Harry offered, clearly trying to be helpful.

"No no," she shook her head, wringing out her soaking wet sweater. "Let's not disturb the nice dragon that could've eaten me but didn't for some reason."

"Could've?" Harry asked, politely taking her elbow before she could fall right over.

"She was as close to me as you are now," Susan coughed again. "What happened to Ron?"

Harry smiled and pushed his glasses up further on his nose. "Nearly drowned Sallow, yelled at Sallow, punched Sallow in the face, threatened Sallow's manhood several times…"

"I'm a Healer, Harry. I'm asking if he's hurt."

Harry put his lit wand in her hand with a neutral smile. "Not because of Toddy."

A warmth spread through her fingers and made her realize just how cold she really was, the wand in her hand reacting positively to her touch. She thought Harry sounded like Ron. Or maybe Ron sounded like Harry. It was inevitable when two people spent enough time together, they would pick up on each other's habits and mannerisms.

From the way the man spoke of Sallow, she thought Harry wouldn't be any happier about dragon breeding than Ron was.

"This might be a touch disturbing," she warned, lifting the wand to her chest. Soundlessly, she moved the wand and immediately felt the trickle of whatever water remained in her lungs. It spread upwards until she coughed it out rather violently, bent over with Harry patting her back encouragingly. The power of Harry's wand was a bit overwhelming, Susan being so used to the more subtle magic of her Ash, but it got the job done.

It _really_ got the job done.

When she looked up she spotted a Weasley standing nearby. Warm brown eyes, bright red-orange hair, and freckles that outnumbered hers by the dozens. "As I live and breathe, the darling Susan Bones, Healer extraordinaire," he gave her a cocky smile. "I heard you dove 50 feet off a ledge into a lake with a dragon's egg just to spite mushy Toddy Sallow."

"George, right? It was barely 10 feet. Don't over exaggerate." She straightened up and handed Harry his wand. "Thanks, Harry."

"Don't thank me," he shrugged. "We want to ask you a few questions."

She'd forgotten that about him, that he inspired trust without much effort. Susan should've kept the wand. She looked between Harry and George before spotting the lights of other wands dotted around the loch, gut turning uncomfortably. She was wandless, soaking wet, and surrounded by Ron's friends and family… who all thought Ron had been kidnapped again.

"Yeah, a few questions," George continued where Harry left off. "Like what exactly did you do to my brother?"

"Hmm," she wrung out the bottom of her sweater again and tried to remember the last time she felt her toes. "If you think I'm scared of you, think again. I just faced off with a giant dragon and an absolute rotter of a human being."

Then she marched past George, who seemed positively delighted, and headed for her cabin. She needed dry socks, a hot drink, and everyone to get the hell off her property—not necessarily in that order. Little rocks bit into the underside of her feet, and she tried to remain on the softer grass but the walk was long. Especially with George and Harry pestering her.

She almost felt like they were enjoying it and it made her keep her mouth firmly shut.

Halfway home, the sister appeared, looking every bit the female version of Ron. Rangy and lean, vivid orange red hair, a sneaky grin. "Hello, hello," she greeted with a wave, extinguishing the light at the tip of her wand. "Alright there, Harry? George?"

"All is well here, Gin," Harry said.

But Susan limped on without saying a word, at least, until she came up to the wall that surrounded her property. Her cabin was lit up in the dark, and she could see several people, several Aurors, through the kitchen windows.

Her secluded, private cabin had been completely invaded. It made her want to cry.

"Why are you soaking wet?" the sister asked her when she paused. "Don't you know any magic?"

"Wand's in the water," Susan bit out. "With the dragon. As I went through a lot of trouble to make sure that dragon is happy down there, I'd prefer no one disturb her."

"She's quite cross, we've found," George informed.

"I can tell, wouldn't you be?" Ginny snapped with a lot of sass.

The door opened and a tall witch in Auror robes walked out, holding Toddy Sallow by the elbow. The man was bound by magic, arms behind his back. He looked… bummed out, like a kid that had his favorite toy taken away.

He looked up and met her eyes, shrinking back immediately.

"I'll not see you on my property again, Toddy."

The tall Auror pretended to shiver. She laughed, "Seems you'll be safer in jail after all, Sallow."

They walked down past Ron and another Auror she didn't recognize who were running up the path at her.

"Susie! Susie! You're alive!"

Peeling out of her wet sweater, she hung it over the wall and turned her back to everyone, walking through the door. She paused, turned, and looked at George. "As you can see, I didn't do anything to your brother."

"Who said you did?" Ron paused by the small gate, head turning towards his brother. He reached out with pure brotherly loathing and pushed at George. "Oi! What did you say to her?"

Ginny in turn pushed at Ron. "Don't shove your brother!"

"Rather shove you," he called back.

"Yeah Ronnie, don't shove your brother," George laughed as he did just that to Ron.

"Ugh, can't stand either of you. Susan's not used to having a big family around, so shove off the lot of you! You too Harry!" Ron had pushed his siblings around while they all laughed but it seemed to take all the wind out of him to do it. Instead of pushing off, Harry grabbed Ron's arm in such a way Ginny or George wouldn't notice.

And if Susan felt misplaced earlier, she felt doubly so now. Is this how siblings act normally? "I'm really confused, Ron."

He turned around to face her, looking exhausted but otherwise unharmed. "They don't think you did anything to me, Susie, they're just teasin' you, to mess with me. I told you, my family can't mind their own business to save their lives."

The last part he directed towards his sister with a sneer. Which she mockingly returned, sticking her tongue out afterwards.

"Yeah, _Susie_ ," George laughed, saying her name exactly as Ron had. "But if you want, you can kidnap me too. Take me away for the weekend. Won't you please? If I beg?"

"Oi, shut it," Ron snapped, pouting when Ginny ruffled his hair. "I left a note, right by my door, you couldn't have missed it!"

"This note?" Ginny asked, pulling a crumpled up piece of notebook paper from her jean pocket. "The one that says 'Gone for weekend, everything fine, bye'?"

"You see? We found ourselves rather curious despite your incredibly detailed note, Ron," George shrugged.

"Especially when you frantically sent for us." Harry added.

"Now listen here, I would've dove in after her but I couldn't even climb up the damn trail after chasing Sallow around!" Ron frowned, definitely swaying on his feet. But then he smiled wide. "But see? Susan saved herself, she didn't even need us. Super witch."

"I didn't," she admitted, squeezing out the t-shirt she'd worn under her sweater. Water dripped down onto her feet. "The dragon did."

"The dragon saved you from the dragon?" Harry asked, making George laugh a bit.

"The dragon saved me from _drowning_ ," she informed them. "She breathed on me when she saw that I returned the egg to the nest. It might've saved me but I'm pretty sure the sheer force of it gave me a concussion."

"Concussion?" Ron frowned. "Jeez, are you okay, Susie? Didn't even think to ask…"

"Wow, Ronnie. The woman saved your life, can't you act decent for once?"

"Pardon me, but I was being plenty decent before Toddy showed up," Ron snapped. "Now please _shut it_!"

"Oh, fine, we'll leave then," Ginny said loudly, winking at Susan. It seemed an effort to distract from Ron's embarrassment. "But we are awfully curious what you two have been doing up here, all alone, in this cozy cabin all weekend…"

"I said-" Ron started, turning on his sister.

"He's been sleeping mostly, and eating all my bacon while I saved a dragon egg and got Toddy Sallow arrested," Susan told them crisply.

It sent everyone into absolute hysterics, except for Ron, who put his hands over his heart as if she had wounded him.

"Oh, Bones," he groaned heavily, full of drama. "I helped a bit, you know, disarmed Toddy after you tripped him."

"If you say so," she crossed her arms and resisted the urge to smile. "Why don't you all… why don't you come in and help yourself to some tea while I clean up."

It seemed the right thing to say, the right thing to do. Even more when Ron seemed happy for the invitation of his family into her home. The last of the Aurors left so it was only the five of them and it made her kitchen feel full, rather than smaller, when they found seats for themselves and Ron took charge of the kettle.

She slipped into the master bedroom and listened to their laughter a moment, smiling to herself. It was a family cabin. For years, ever since she was a teenager, she would slip up and think of it as such. Then get mad, thinking she didn't have family, it couldn't be a _family_ cabin. She was alone, so it was just a simple cabin for one. And though she loved coming for a visit, Susan now realized the mistake she made.

She should've invited some friends along long ago.

With a knock and a please, Susan withdrew Amelia's Spruce from the back of the top desk drawer. To her shame she did not know the magical core within, but from some experimentation after Amelia's death, Susan figured out the Spruce worked fine for a few spells.

It was nice to still have the connection to her aunt.

After healing the cut on her head and thoroughly checking herself over for any other injuries, Susan hopped in the shower to wash off the loch water and the blood in her hair. Afterwards, she discovered the sheer joy of dry socks after a near drowning. It hadn't taken long, but when she padded out into the kitchen, the rest of her clothes as dry as her socks, Ron was alone with a cup of tea at the kitchen table.

At the sight of her, he scrambled up eagerly, if a touch exhausted. "I sent them home, I'm really sorry they were messing around with you. Harry might come for you in a few days though, to get a statement about Toddy."

Honestly, she was relieved she wouldn't have to face them just then. But her main concern… "Ron, you look dead on your feet. Are you okay?"

He shrugged, which caused him to list slightly. He leaned against the table and said, "Just sorely out of shape, _really_ out of shape if I couldn't catch fucking-er, I meant, if I couldn't catch Toddy Sallow of all people."

"You can swear in front of me, Ron, it won't upset me. What upsets me is that you're literally swaying, c'mon, to bed. Let's go."

"Yes Healer," he took her hand. She knew he was about to flirt with her because his cheeks and neck turned rosy before her very eyes. "Come with me?"

Okay. She was wrong. That wasn't a flirt, that was without a doubt a direct _invitation_.

"Ah. Wow. Kiss a boy one time…" she took his arm forcefully, guiding him to the bedroom instead of responding. But her coarse manhandling only made him smile. Which she returned. "Aren't you a little freaked out by everything that happened?"

"Well yeah," he wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they walked, mostly to keep him upright, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. "I think I had a mini-heart attack when I saw you dive into the water. But honestly, stuff like this happens to me all the time. Ever since I was a kid. I'd blame Harry, but Ginny and I would get into trouble all on our own. Please watch out for Ginny, she's a bad influence, no matter _what_ my mum says..."

She guided him to the bedroom, having to hold him up by the time they reached the bed, and marveled at way he warned of his sister. As if Susan would be around to be wary of the likes of Ginny Weasley. The first sign that perhaps Ron cared to see Susan after this strange weekend trip was over.

Which scared her a lot more than the dragon did.

Susan snapped, "Why didn't you go to bed when they left? You idiot, why don't you ever listen to your healers? Rest and food and-"

Ron kissed her. There was no Toddy Sallow around to interrupt this time either, so there was time to sink into it. For her to sink into him despite her mind sending off blaring sharp warnings. His other arm came around her back to pull her in closer and the kiss deepened since it was given a proper chance.

A chance for Ron to prove how _thorough_ of a kisser he was, but even his best efforts couldn't silence her mindful misgivings.

Susan's hand tightened in his sweater and when she pulled back, her lips wet, she couldn't help but glare at him. "Did you kiss me to shut me up?"

"Uhmmm…" he swallowed, seemingly dazed. "Just a smidge."

"'A smidge'?"

"A smidge," he grinned that stupid, infectious smile of his. "I also kinda think you're brilliant for saving that egg, especially since I couldn't. But mostly I kissed you because I'm most definitely running out of time before I pass out again."

"Ron!" Susan made a shout of frustration before pushing him the rest of the way to the bed. He flopped down but he didn't look chided in the least. He had a dreamy sort of smile that stretched his face despite his drooping eyes. "You should know better than to incur the wrath of your healer. But you went and did it anyway."

"Fortune favors the bold, love," he laid his head on the pillow and caught her hand. "Please come to bed with me."

"And reward this behavior? I don't think so," she said, squeezing his hand once before releasing it. Her tone might've been sharp, but she tucked him in anyway. "Would it disturb your sleep if I did?"

Ron shook his head. "Not at all, Susie. Not at all."

"Go to sleep and… I might just join you in a little bit," she told him softly, watching as he fell asleep with a smile still on his face.

It took her some time to come to terms with his request, which she couldn't do until she got over that kiss. That glorious, breath-stealing, toe-curling kiss. She hadn't had dinner but she was too nervous to eat. After her shower, she'd been coming down from the adrenaline rush, but now she felt the need to busy her hands. But there was nothing here in the cabin for her to do, usually she came to hike and catch up on sleep. She came for peace and quiet, the exact opposite of a usual shift at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The exact opposite of driving into the loch with a barely formed Dragon Egg trying to fend off a giant, pregnant Hebridean Black Dragon...

Padding over, she stood in front of the portrait of herself and Amelia, wondering what her Aunt, who was so much smarter than herself, would do.

It seemed obvious that getting into bed with a man who had been sexually and physically assaulted, who was still recovering from that assault, was not the right thing to do. But he'd asked, and he'd asked with a big, goofy smile all over his face. She had no evidence that Ron was in any way a liar—maybe an idiot who pushed himself too far but not a liar.

If he wanted her to come to bed with him then it was an honest request. One she had to decide if she wanted to honor or not.

Maybe _she_ was the ninny.


	9. Chapter 9

He'd asked her to come to bed with him, yet she couldn't help but feel like she would be intruding if she crawled in next to Ron. He was out like a light, but she worried that he wasn't getting enough sleep already. But… It was a big bed. Magically lengthened by Amelia at some point to accommodate her long legs and Susan didn't mind the length one bit when she inherited it. Ron certainly seemed comfortable from the way he dozed so peacefully, stretched out on his side with one arm underneath his pillow.

Rest he needed. Sleep was a cure-all sometimes, especially after all he'd been through. Especially after the day they had.

She stood in her polka dotted pajamas at the foot of the bed thinking that she did a lot that day. Saved the dragon egg, got a jerk arrested, nearly drowned, was saved by a giant dragon, but that was the obvious.

The real prize was listening to Ron vent and ramble and rant until it was all out, which was, to Susan, the harder bit of healing. He talked for so long, about what he'd been through the last year or so. Something Susan so admired about him. The ability to open up like that… she had problems making small talk with the barista at the nearest coffee place to St. Mungo's. Or the sweet old lady at her favorite curry place. Or even Tina, her next door neighbor with her lovely Schnauzer Pepper.

Some people made it seem to effortless. Ron had done it, but it had taken a lot of guts. She had neither guts nor the inclination to expose herself in such a way.

She was also out of things to distract herself with. She'd brushed her hair and teeth, checked that all the windows and doors were locked, shut off all the lights. Her nightly routine was done and over. She was clean and in her pajamas looking down at Ron in a fluffy pile of familiar white quilt and pillows, knowing she wanted to join him and unable to work up the courage to do it.

Ron asked her to sleep next to him. He'd extended the invitation not once, but twice. Still, she fidgeted, too nervous to actually get under the covers despite her own desires. He could've gone home with his family, but he chose to stay. He teased and kissed her even though he'd been through a terrible trauma. And if that trauma was something he could deal with, then Susan supposed she could deal with her own.

Biting her cheek, she lifted the edge of the blankets and slid into bed as quietly as she could, using Amelia's wand to extinguish the lights. The Spruce went under the pillow and she turned on her side to face Ron, who was curled up facing her with maybe two feet between them.

He didn't stir, didn't blink open his eyes at her presence. No, instead he seemed to relax even more into the comfort of the bed, his breathing deep and steady.

She closed her eyes and thought of the rushing sensation of water past her ears, of violently purple eyes staring her in the face. It wasn't the first time she came close to death. Not even the second. But it was the first time that Susan felt like she would be leaving something important behind if she did cross the line from living to whatever happened beyond.

Wizards were a peculiar bunch when it came to religion. Some still worshiped the Old Gods. Some set up altars and prayed to the Goddesses. Others went to church to pray on Sunday morning. Susan was familiar with most of the popular religions due to her work at the hospital, to aid with her dismal bedside manner. Not that it helped much.

And somewhere between fretting about Ron, worrying about sleep, and wondering if Amelia had been just beyond the veil tonight, waiting for Susan to join her, she fell asleep.

It was either that, or lie awake anxious and stomach turning with uncertainty.

She woke up to fingers in her hair and a quiet shushing in her ear after what felt like only a moment. Long fingers, she thought, cupping the back of her head sweetly. The warmth of someone nearby, sharing a bed. Her head rested on his arm.

"Shh, you're having a bad dream," Ron's voice was gravelly in the mornings and pleasantly hot against her skin. "Just a dream."

Her frown weighed heavily on her face but she forced her eyes open anyway. "Are you okay?" she asked, blinking warily at him. Had she inadvertently taken advantage of him in her sleep? She should've slept upstairs, should've given him space.

But he only laughed, beard all messy from sleep and eyes bright in the early morning light.

They were both under the sheet, which was pulled up over their heads, and she felt his knee just brushing against her thigh. His hands were reassuring as his fingers speared through her hair, the touch unfamiliar but intimate all the same. Such a touch she hadn't felt in some time, one that spoke of physical intimacy and the things lovers do under the covers.

"I wake you from a nightmare and your first thought is to ask after me, Bones? What's that about?"

"Ah—" It seemed the consequence of giving in to the need to be close to him led to the one thing she couldn't do. Or could she? Could she be a little brave and reveal a little piece of herself after all he revealed to her?

"There's... Healers and Aides at Mungo's that I've worked with for 10 years or more," she told him. "People I can barely open up to even after all that time. But you… you I show all my secret places, you I crawl into bed with after only a weekend. I don't know why, Ron. It's not a Healer thing, needing to know you're alright. _I have to know you're alright_. It's... I just can't help it."

She repeated the same thing he told her when she found him on her doorstep only a few days prior, only to realize why he'd been so comfortable opening up to her the day before. Because admitting her feelings, as jumbled up and inexplicable as they were, just then felt nearly as relieving and intimate as his caressing fingers did against her hair.

"Susie. I dreamed about kissing you for months," he admitted, face rosy with embarrassment. He looked down to avoid her gaze, though he kept a gentle hold on her head, fingers soothing against the skin and sliding through her hair.. "Spent all that time trying to work up the courage to even say hullo to the woman who saved me. Maybe you're right. Maybe it was out of gratitude that I wanted to see you. But when we started talking and, y'know, I'm not all that great at that bit either—But it seemed easy with you."

He shook his head and looked up at her again, determination all over his face. "It _is_ easy with you."

Susan felt the weight of her forgotten nightmare slipping away, her lips lifting up in a smile.

"And I don't care what you say, you're _sweet_. Sweeter than my mum's custard, I promise."

"Maybe I over exaggerated how many mean bones I have. Maybe there's a nice one… just the one."

One of his hands continued to rub into her neck and back of the head, slow, relieving movements. The other traveled to cup her jaw and she felt herself responding, her hand traveling down his sleeve to cup the back of his hand, the one on her jaw.

It was there that she felt it. The bones protruding from his hand, the pale, freckled skin stretched tight, were all there. Except for one.

"Oh, Ron," she frowned, rubbing the back of his hand gently. She traced the metacarpal up his pinky finger to be sure, up his ring finger after, and then she stopped at the fleshy place where his middle metacarpal should've been. "Why?"

He rested his head on her pillow, smile disappearing. "That was the one she cursed. It was … awful... painful, and there was plenty of time for it to spread since she cursed me, well, I'm not too sure how long after she took me. Had my hands tied behind my back for so long I couldn't feel them anymore. And she mostly cut me here."

He pulled away the hand that was massaging her neck and started crisscrossing his fingers over his chest. His story seemed all jumbled up, disorganized, but she got the majority of it. He continued, "Lots of cuts, lots of bleeding, but it wasn't enough for her, y'know. Eventually she wanted more, so she, yeah, she went behind me and cut into my hand. She said… something about nerves. I dunno. Ignore me. You know I used to be good at this bit. I used to be such a flirt..."

"Used to be?" Susan teased. Then she had an idea.

"Lots of sensitive nerve endings in the hands," she whispered to him, taking the hand in question into her palms. She remembered his panic attack at the waterfall, realizing this was the hand she'd touched, and understanding now why it caused his anxiety. Why he admitted to only having 205 bones instead of the usual 206.

Somehow, she knew exactly what to do. "For instance…" She used the pad of her index finger and oh so gently began drawing lines across the back of his hand. Back and forth with slow, easy movements that mimicked the gentle ebb and flow of Healing Magic.

Soft lines she drew, up each of his fingers going at the slowest of speeds. Just enough for him to feel it, just enough to distract him from his pain. She traced the back of each of his fingers before dipping downward and doing it again, and again, until the sadness of remembering what that Dark Witch did to him disappeared from his face, until he was focused on her, and the languid touch she gave him.

Until she moved along the edge of his hand and then across the back of his wrist.

The move caused his mouth to part slightly but he didn't stop her. He didn't seem uncomfortable in any way, not with the way his blue eyes started to dance in the light, so she continued her trek across the wrist, back and forth before turning his hand over in her palm and moving her finger across the underside of his wrist, feeling the bump where his blue-green veins stood out underneath the skin.

She spent several minutes there, back and forth, skin against skin, her finger drawing lines while he watched with rapt interest.

"It's so," he gulped. " _Sensitive_."

Good. Sensitive was not painful. She was a Healer, damn it. She wouldn't allow for him to be in pain.

Grinning, Susan slowly reached out and rolled up the sleeve of his pajama shirt, carefully watching to make sure she didn't make him uncomfortable, or push him too far too quickly. With his arm now bare to her, she began tracing his veins, starting at the wrist, and traveling down his underarm to his bony elbow and back again. She spent time lazily circling his freckles, finding some that were more sensitive than others. Finding his wrist again, she added a second finger and watched his entire frame shudder.

"Susan…" he gasped.

Her movements paused, fingers pressing into his skin. "Should I stop?"

He blinked rapidly, his breaths uneven. "No."

"I should keep going?" she asked, wanting to be sure.

"God yes," he nodded quickly, squeezing his eyes shut.

With his permission, Susan pushed her fingers down along his lean wrist, returning to his hand, where she dipped into his palm. It caused him to moan deeply, little goosebumps popping up all along his arm between freckles.

"See?" she whispered across the pillow to him. His eyes blinked open and looked right at her. "Lots of sensitive nerve endings in the hand. Several receptors, all so you can tell the precise difference of shapes, and textures," she moved her thumb over the middle of his palm, then her fingers one at a time. His own fingers wiggled as she tested each of her fingers against the skin of his palm. Each one eliciting a different response. Her thumb made him hum. Her index finger made him moan. Her middle made him gasp. Her ring finger made him shudder. And her pinky made him smile.

"Susan…"

But she wasn't done.

"Objects," she grabbed the hem of her polka dotted sleeve to draw little circles across his palm, listening as his breaths came faster and faster. The soft flannel giving him new sensations to feel. And zero pain. No pain. She wouldn't allow it.

His fingers wiggled impatiently, as if he wanted more.

"Pressures," she released the sleeve and guided her palm against his, until their fingers entangled, deepening her touch and watching his face melt in silent pleasure when she squeezed.

Until it was too much. His hand spasmed as he rolled away, lying on his back and gently extracting his hand from her touch. Susan came up on her elbow beside him, spotting the goosebumps had made their way to his neck. As she watched, he lifted his hand and held it in his face, examining it carefully.

"Susan," he said, in that tone she still couldn't decipher. "Give me your hand."

She did as he said, lifting her hand and placing it right next to his. The sunlight coming through the window fell across their palms, lighting up his freckles and clearly revealing her calluses from holding a wand so often. Healers often had the same marker on their hand, a sign of the profession. But Ron didn't seem to mind, especially when he pressed one finger against her palm the same way she had done to him.

The leisurely touch sent waves of warmth radiating down her arm.

"Feels good," she told him honestly.

"Where else?" he asked, voice rough.

Susan didn't need him to clarify, instead she leaned over, and as he held her palm she breathed out against his ear, "Here." And immediately watched more goosebumps break out across his freckled neck as her breath hit his ear, causing him to moan deeply.

Emboldened, she released his hand and brought fingers to his beard, along the jaw, digging in gently. "Here," she whispered again, pushing her fingers through his beard to his opposite ear, cupping around his neck, before gliding through his curls.

Where she began digging fingernails into his scalp, "And here."

"Do more," he panted, his legs shifting beneath the sheets. "I want more. Char— _she_ never did anything like that to me."

While she continued to drag her nails up and down his scalp, she leaned even closer, and pressed her lips against his earlobe. A closed-mouth kiss just on the tip of his ear, then she backed off, carefully studying his face. Her lips tingled from the quick kiss, and she wanted more too.

His chest was actively rising and falling with each breath and his eyes were becoming more and more hooded. "One more," he demanded, breathless. "I can take one more…"

Twice they had kissed. No. Twice _he_ kissed her. He was the one who initiated both and she wanted her chance— "There's over one million nerve endings in the lips," she said before she dipped down and kissed him.

Pressing their lips together, she opened her mouth and deepened the kiss, a move that tipped him over the edge. No longer complacent to simply be touched, Ron leaned up, moaning into her mouth and grabbing her by the cheeks with both hands. He responded to her eagerness with his own, tongue hotly sliding against her lips and into her mouth, his beard brushing pleasantly against her skin.

He pushed his long fingers into her hair, tilting her head back as he sat further up, snogging her absolutely senseless. Her vision filled with blue, and she found herself forced onto her back as Ron came over her. It happened between one kiss and the next, and the inelegant sound she let out was the only interruption, and the feeling of a warm body on top of her filled her with a heady pleasure she so rarely experienced.

"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, hiding his face in her neck while she, in a daze, wondered what made him stop.

She gentled her touch in his hair, enjoying the curls against her skin, and asked, "Are you okay?"

"There you go again," he said against her neck, hot breath against her skin. "Sounded like I hurt you."

"Then I'm the sorry one," she told him, bringing her other hand to his cheek. "I'm not hurt. I'm just really, really bad at this."

"Uhhh…" he gave her a goofy look. "You serious?"

She shifted beneath him, unsure of what to say to make him kiss her again. His hips pressed into her abdomen, and she felt a stiffness press into her lower stomach. Which made his face soften with pleasure again.

"Okay, so maybe I'm not that bad," she tried, hoping to make him smile.

He did. "Not that bad? _Susan_ ," the hard way he said her name flooded her with heat, starting at the neck and going straight down to every other bit of her. "This is the first time I don't feel like an incapable ninny since it all happened. _That's how good you are_."

She didn't reprimand him for using that word again, because he seemed comfortable in his own skin for the first time that weekend. And he kept smiling as he leaned down to kiss her, his hands still clutching her hair. Maybe he kissed her to stop her from arguing with him, but Susan didn't care—because it felt too good to be entangled with him like this.

He laid fully on top of her, letting all his weight, which felt heavier than expected, pin her down. It seemed that he enjoyed being in charge. He also enjoyed when she pushed her legs apart to better accommodate his weight. And his smile made the kiss feel all that much better.

She encouraged him, she realized, by showing him pleasure in the place where he'd been hurt so badly. And in turn, he encouraged her not to be so afraid. Encouragement she used to return his kiss, and to bring her fingers to the top button of his pajama shirt.

"You stop whenever you need, Ron," she mumbled between kisses, lips wet from his attentions. She began undoing the top two buttons one after the other.

He braced on an elbow and brought his opposite hand up, stopping her before she could continue. "You first, please Susan, you first."

"Bossy," she said, their fingers tangling up.

"I _said_ please!" he laughed, a sound she enjoyed far more when he was on top of her.

"You did," she agreed, feeling lighthearted. "Still bossy. I like that."

She calmly brought both of her hands to the top button of her shirt and began undoing them while he watched.

Down the line she went, popping each button out. The lower she reached on her shirt, the more Ron rose up on his elbow, allowing enough space between them for her to work, until her shirt was parted enough to show a thin line of pale skin from her neck straight down to her belly button. Relaxing back, she looked up at Ron and waited. Letting him be in control.

His eyes blinked heavily several times. "Are you… you're not wearing a bra?" he asked in a low voice that had her feeling hot again.

"No… I don't sleep in one usually," she told him softly while he brought a single finger to rest in the small space just between her breasts. He drew a small circle, causing her to suck in a quick breath, before dragging the back of his finger to her right breast. There he pushed aside her shirt with excruciating slowness, his finger leaving a trail of heat as he brushed against the side of her breast, upwards until the shirt's edge stopped just at her nipple. Another nudge and it would push past, revealing herself completely.

She bit into her lip, the usually soft flannel suddenly feeling abrasive as her nipple stiffened against it. Ron smiled, revealing very white teeth, as he finished pushing her shirt to the side. His thumb brushed over her nipple, making her shiver.

"Nerve endings?" Ron asked in that low voice, circling the stiff peak with focused movements, as she had done to him.

"So _so_ many," she trembled, fists clenching before she grabbed at him unceremoniously.

"How many, Susan?" he demanded, fingertips grazing the side of her breast as he continued to circle her nipple.

"Remember," she gasped. "What I said about your lips?"

His mouth parted right before he dipped down and began pressing slow, open mouthed kisses against her chest, his beard scratching pleasantly against her skin. She meant to answer his question directly, instead he found out for himself as he went lower, over her heart, before going straight to her nipple where he swirled his tongue around once before sucking on it wetly. It made her squirm beneath him, pleasure wracking her body. Her hands came to tangle in his hair, holding him to her and Ron responded by shoving aside the other half of her shirt aggressively.

Cool air was soon replaced by Ron's hand and while he sucked on her tit, he groped the other firmly. Greedily. Until she was moaning as well as squirming, lifting her knees as if to relieve the pressure of pleasure her upper body couldn't handle. His fingers dug into his hair and she tugged at the strands harshly.

" _Ron_ ," she gasped, but her complaint only made him switch positions. He took her left nipple into his mouth, plucking the other wetted nipple with his fingers, until she felt a sharp twisting of pleasure that had her falling back into the pillow with a loud shout—belatedly realizing she'd been sitting up in order to get closer.

The physical relief that swept over her body was only slightly less intense than the orgasm she had. Her head turned to the side, cheek pressing into her own hair, body feeling in a warm haze as Ron gentled his touches, pressing sweet kisses to her chest, to her collarbone, up the column of her neck, before stopping just at the edge of her jaw.

He lifted a hand to her chin and turned her head to face him. "Alright there, Susan?"

"Yes," she breathed out. It had just been a long, _long_ time. "You?"

"Yes," he pressed a kiss to the edge of her lips, fervently whispering against her skin. "Yes. You're so sexy to me. You're such a comfort to me."

He peppered more kisses across her face. "You're just…" Ron paused, looking down at her. His thumb brushed across her swollen lips and he seemed to realize something. "You're the exact opposite of her."

Susan reached between them, grabbing his shirt in the front and shaking him once while giving him the look. The one she learned from Amelia. " _Don't_ think about her when you're in bed with me."

He seemed completely shocked. "I… uh… oops?"

Which made her smile. She gave him another playful tug. "Don't let it happen again."

"Yes, Healer," he brushed his thumbs over her cheeks. "Can I make you breakfast? I think I might need a moment before… well… y'know… anything else happens."

Nodding, she started redoing her buttons, understanding completely. "Listen," she started, purposely making her tone as serious as possible. "There is never, _ever_ , a time when I don't want breakfast."


	10. Chapter 10

There was something about a cheerful man cooking for her that Susan could appreciate. Especially when that cheerful man also made her coffee, coffee she sipped at as she watched him work the kitchen. They didn't talk, but the silence felt comfortable. There was no awkwardness after the little bout of, what would she even call it?—it wasn't quite sex, but it was definitely more than kissing. And whatever it was, it had Ron seeming a bit _smug_ , if she were being honest.

He sat down a plate in front of her, one loaded with cut up strawberries and grapes, blackberries and oranges, and a mini bowl of cottage cheese. All of which she munched on happily while he did something in 'secret' with eggs.

"No really, don't look, this is my specialty!" he insisted, seeming more than pleased with himself.

"Alright," she hid her smile with a piece of strawberry and instead looked out the window, into the valley. Looking for the dragon and hoping she remained safely under the lake with her eggs. Rolling clouds moved through the valley, bringing with them a drizzle of rain and a slight chill. But Susan didn't mind, because Ron bundled her up in his sweater when they left the bedroom.

"And by specialty I mean this is about it, as far as cooking goes. The one thing I can make that won't kill ya," Ron informed, darting around the kitchen, looking for tools and whatever else he needed for his secret breakfast.

"I'm usually too busy to cook," she told him. "Shifts at the hospital are between 10-15 hours, can't bother to come home after that and stand around cooking. But there's a curry restaurant really close to my place, it's so good. I eat there all the time."

"I love curry," he said with zeal. "I'll eat anything really. Except for corned beef. Really can't stand corned beef."

"Not a fan either," she eyed up his eggs. She spied something dark, like cinnamon, across the tops of the whisked eggs as he dipped slices of bread into the concoction.

He caught her looking, " _No peeking Susie_!"

She quickly took a bite of cottage cheese and turned her gaze away. Good thing too, because she spotted a small shadow through the window. One she recognized as an owl, heading straight for the cabin. Getting up, Susan unlocked the window and pushed it outwards, just in time for a tawny barn owl to swoop in, dripping water, and drop a chunky letter at her feet. The owl landed on the back of the chair she'd previously been sitting in, and Susan couldn't help but lean over and feed it a bit of strawberry.

"Thank you, sorry I don't have any Owl Treats," she apologized.

But it seemed more than pleased by the fruit offering and shook out wet wings, splashing her in the process. Then it took off again through the window. Susan bent down and picked up the letter, finding it heavier than expected. But then, she _should_ have expected it.

"Oh," she suddenly felt glum. "The Portkey to return home."

Ron turned on his toe. "Oh," he said in the same tone she had. "When's, uh, it scheduled for then?"

"1 P.M." She wasn't pouting, but she wanted to.

"Plenty of time," Ron told her, turning back to the stove. She heard the pan sizzle afterwards, but he seemed about as happy as she was.

"Right," she opened the envelope and pulled out a slightly bent out of shape mason jar lid wrapped carefully in brown paper. Beneath it was the receipt from the Ministry. Somewhere between Ron crashing her vacation, facing off with a dragon, and waking up in bed to the physical comfort of a man… Susan completely forgot that it was _Sunday_. The last day of her weekend get-away.

She pulled the window back into place, sliding the lock in before she realized the cabin was far colder than it had been before. She marched across the room, setting aside the Portkey for now, and started loading logs into the hearth, pulling out Amelia's wand to set it aflame.

"That's better," she said, holding her hands out towards the fire.

"I thought your wand was in the lake?" Ron asked from across the room, he was eyeing up the Spruce strangely. "That's not yours, that's a Spruce and yours is…"

"Ash. This is Amelia's."

"Who?" he looked even more confused. "Oh, Merlin, shut me up Susie. I forgot. Your Aunt, Amelia Bones right? My dad used to go on for ages about her."

Susan spun on her toe so quickly she almost got dizzy. "Your dad knew my Aunt?"

"Only by proxy," he gestured for her to stay where she was. " _Secret_! I'll talk, you sit!"

Groaning, she marched back over the table and sat down with a flop, stuffing a whole strawberry in her mouth, eager to hear whatever Ron had to say. She loved finding out secondhand information about her aunt. Amelia had touched so many lives, Susan had heard countless stories over the years since her death.

"Apparently she was the driving vote in The Protection of Muggle Technology law that my dad helped draft. The one that makes it illegal to bespell any kind of Muggle Computers? You know magic plus Muggle tech, it's not a good combination." He made a sound with his whole mouth, mimicking an explosion, while spreading his hands out. Behind him the skillet started smoking.

"Ahem…" Susan wiggled her nose.

"Shite," Ron frantically started searching through the drawer. "Spatula… spatula…"

"Need assistance?"

"Nope, stay over there, it's a surprise," he grabbed a nearby fork and pulled his wand from the counter top, transfiguring the utensil into a wooden spatula with a desperate sounding spell. "A burnt… surprise…" he added quietly.

"Anyways, Wizards aren't all that knowledgeable about Muggle Tech, but were especially clueless back then, Dad had a hard time getting support to protect Muggles from tampered technology. There was this spree of enchanted er— _pagers?_ —I dunno, this little thing that beeped to remind Muggles to take their vitamins or something. My dad tracked down 4 of them that had been enchanted to get louder instead of turning off. Harmless almost, except again, computers plus magic equals big explosions. One of them blew up, killed a Muggle woman, attracted all sorts of unwanted attention. So Madam Bones helped word it right to garner support among the Wizengamot. Made my dad's job a lot easier apparently, but I was just a kid when that happened."

Ron talked while scraping a burnt piece of what was supposed to be French Toast into the trash.

Susan sighed happily, enjoying a brand new story that involved some kind of change Amelia made in the world. Some kind of effect she had. And in this case, making Ron's dad's life a little better, his job a little easier. That kind of change has ripples, and ripples last a long while.

"I need just another minute," Ron mumbled, grabbing a fresh slice of bread. He soaked it in the egg mixture while he added more butter to the pan. "Totally normal to burn the first one… completely normal..."

She adored when he talked to himself, something he did until he excitedly put a plate full of French toast in front of her. The fruit and cottage cheese should've been enough, but she hadn't had dinner the night before, and the plate was too tempting. He also set down both maple syrup and a jar of red raspberry 'Zealot Jam' for her to choose from, both of which she hadn't the faintest idea where they came from. She hadn't brought them, but was delighted by their presence.

She reached for the jam and smeared it across each piece of French Toast, which looked perfectly cooked. Then she drenched the whole plate in syrup just because she felt like indulging. Which clearly surprised Ron, but he ended up copying her move anyway on his own plate.

"Ron," she moaned, mouth full sweetness and the satisfaction of a homemade meal she didn't cook herself. "This is fantastic."

"Learned from my mum," he said proudly. "And in case you were wondering, if I'd a chance to make you dinner last night, this would've been it."

"Breakfast," Susan bobbed up and down in her seat, feeling downright gleeful. "I could eat it three times a day, I'm not kidding."

"I believe you," he said, catching her excitement and the look he gave her made her toes curl. "Feeling good, Susie?"

"A sexy redhead got me off and then made me breakfast," she leaned over her plate, looking him dead in the eye. " _And made me coffee_? Trust me, Ron. This is the best day of my life."

She meant it in jest, but it was sorely closer to the truth than not. Which gave her pause. Then she absolutely had to ask, "Did anything that happened this morning, was it too much for you?"

Ron set aside his fork and gave her question serious consideration, and she worried she'd pushed him too far. Finally he said, "No. Doesn't make sense does it? The other day you shook my hand and I had a full blown panic attack outta nowhere."

Susan nodded, also considering… Then she reached out across the table, slow enough to give him plenty of time to back off. He didn't, and she took a hold of his hand. "Maybe because this is where she hurt you."

She traced the place where his missing bone should've been.

"Yet," he leaned a little closer. "When you touch me there, all my blood rushes south… you know what I'm saying?"

"Blood rushing?" she put on her Healer's voice. "Are you feeling faint at all?"

"Aha ha… firstly," he held up a finger to stop her before she could 'check' his pulse. "I did not _faint_. I had a panic attack, it's different. Secondly," he paused. "Oh, you're messing with me!"

"I see why your siblings tease you so mercilessly, Ron. It's extremely fun."

"Not you too! Oi! Bones! Finish your breakfast!"

She hastily stuffed her mouth with a giant forkful of French Toast to appease him. And her stomach. It really was quite delicious and the sweetness went along perfectly with her strong coffee. Not even the rain outside that was becoming a steady downpour could dampen her good mood.

Afterwards, she licked her lips, feeling like a child for how quickly she devoured that French Toast never mind all the syrup on her face. But Ron reached out and took her hand again. "You're right, y'know?"

"Usually," she agreed, setting aside her napkin and taking his hand tenderly.

"Susie," he grinned, which helped him admit what he said next. "I realize now all my panic attacks happened whenever I was touched in a place she hurt me. Like when my mum tries to hug me…" he made a vague gesture to his chest. "Or when someone shakes my hand."

"I don't want to be the cause of your panic attacks, Ron," she told him somberly. "Or push you too far just because I needed comforting after yesterday."

His brow furrowed, making him seem quite serious which was not a look she would normally associate with him. "Did you need comforting?"

"Waking from a nightmare to your gentle touches was certainly a comfort," she said, squeezing his hand.

He squeezed back, just once, then stood up and came in front of her chair, pulling her up. "What caused your nightmare, Susie? The Hebridean?"

"No, not really, though she was as close to me as you are now," she said, meeting his bright eyed gaze. "Mostly, I thought I would meet my Aunt again last night."

"Your aunt? Your aunt Amelia? Who died?" Then it dawned on him. "You thought you were going to die last night. Was it that close? And here I was screaming my head off at my damn brother and trying to kiss you. Why didn't you say anything?"

He wrapped her up in a hug, nearly squeezing the air right out of her. "Oof—Ron. I'm alright. Perfectly alright, I promise. I was _trying_ to ask after you, remember?"

"You're wondering why I'm not panicking when we kiss… among other things that happened this morning? Well, so am I to be honest. Mind you, it's not like I've been goin' round kissing a bunch of women lately, the way I've been feeling. So I really couldn't say."

"No, Ron." She returned his hug, which he showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. "Trauma isn't predictable, or explained neatly or matter-of-fact. And remember? I said that you don't have to explain it to me if you don't want to. I just feel… Well… I'd like to…"

_I'd like to continue where we left off this morning and haven't a clue how to do that…_

Or if he was even up for it. The last thing Susan wanted was to cause him even an ounce of pain or discomfort, to push him too far after what he'd been through. There was also the bit where the Portkey was due to take them away in just a few short hours and then the weekend would end.

Overwhelmed, she backed up with a big sigh. "Sorry Ron, I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I am," he insisted. "Better than, even. I'm not forced to justify my weird behavior to you, I can be _normal_. Be… well... me. Come over here."

He tugged her across the room and over by the fire, intertwining their hands. He guided her to the sofa, where she sat obediently, sinking into the overly stuffy couch while Ron came down on his knees before her. "We're not going anywhere today."

"Portkey leaves at 1," she reminded him.

He released her hand, turning around on his knees, searching for the very thing they were talking about. Spotting it on the nearby table, Ron reached over and grabbed the bent up mason jar lid. "This thing?"

"Yes," she laughed a little desperately. "That thing. I'm not great at Apparation, if you remember. Portkey is my preferred method of travel."

"Preferred method of travel… I see. Y'know… Forget this thing," and he tossed the lid right into the fire.

"Wha-?!" she leaned forward as if to catch it but she was too late to manage any such feat. "Ron, ah... I have to be at work in the morning."

"I'll get you home," he promised as she watched the brown paper wrapped around the lid burn away. He took her hands, an action becoming more and more familiar. "Where does that leave us? No Portkey, cozy fire, pouring down rain outside, and we don't wanna go out there anyway, what with the angry dragon and all. So tell me the truth, Susie. Do you need more comforting?"

Susan couldn't believe him, that brazen man, throwing her ride home into the fire like that and then laying that line on her. But then, she couldn't deny her enjoyment of his confidence. What had he said? He could be 'normal' around her? Was this cocky side of him a part of that, was it normal for him? He felt good, and sure of himself. Had she done that?

"Yes," she said slowly. "I'm very lonely, Ron… and unlike most Hufflepuffs, I don't make friends easily. I'm too… prickly. Especially since my aunt passed. She died when I was 16. I'll be _33_ next year, which means I'll have lived longer _without_ her than I did with and it'll be another year of me facing the fact that there's one thing magic _can't_ heal. Grief."

It was the most she had talked about Amelia in years. And to Ron, it was also the most she'd revealed about herself in… well… ever. There was a sharp stab of regret in her chest, a moment where she wondered if she did the wrong thing, afraid of him blowing her off or forgetting all about her after the weekend was over. But Ron only leaned forward and kissed her cheek, squeezing her hands in comfort. His beard tickled her skin and the kiss made her smile.

He said, "I'm sorry for your loss, Susie. I know all about the grief. I miss my brother every day."

"Oh—Fred," Susan brought a hand up to the place Ron just kissed, the memory coming back to her quite suddenly. "He kissed me once. Here, on my cheek."

"Bloody hell! Of course he made a move on you before I did! He always had to be first," Ron laughed. "When was this?"

"5th year," Susan grinned at the memory. "After a D.A. meeting ran late, the one when we were learning The Reductor Curse, your brother, Fred, and George too, they walked me back to the Hufflepuff common room. Hannah Abbott was there. She went through first and I turned and thanked them for walking us back and they both kissed my cheeks at the same time."

She brought her other hand up so both hands were on her opposite cheeks. "I'd forgotten about that until just now… I think I blushed around them for the rest of the year."

"Now listen, Bones," Ron practically groaned. "George might be better lookin' than me, but he's married, okay? _Married_."

Susan forced a pout, leaning back into the stuffy sofa. "Darn…"

Which only made Ron groan again. "You're killing me, BONES!"

He flopped down across the floor dramatically, on top of the tan colored rug that had been in front of the fireplace since before Susan had been born. It gave her an idea.

"Stay here a second." She stood up and walked across the room and back into the master. Ron was right. With the rain outside, and the chill that came with it, there would be no traveling to town or more hiking today. Instead, she scooped up all the pillows and blankets from the bed and brought them back to the floor by the fire.

Ron immediately saw what she was doing and stood up, grabbing the opposite corners of the blanket and spreading the thick quilt out over the floor. She scattered the pillows around and summoned an extra few too.

"Seeing as somebody threw my Portkey into the fire and we're stuck here, might as well get comfy…"

Ron laughed, and in the blink of an eye, he had tugged Susan down until they were laying in front of the fire together. The flames were to her back as she faced Ron, feeling warm and full from breakfast.

"I come here twice a year," she told him as he settled onto the other side of her pillow. "None of those weekends were nearly as eventful as this one."

"Sorry," he shrugged. "I've a knack for getting into trouble. You'd think I'd grown outta it by now…"

He kept smiling but she couldn't hear it in his voice any more. And she knew he was thinking about Charlotte from the way his nose twitched. It made the messy curls in his dark red beard shift upwards before settling again.

"I like this," she told him, reaching out slowly with her hand to touch his beard.

"Yeah, that's new, er well, new _ish_ , anyway," he told her, voice still a little flat. But he leaned into her touch. "My mum can't stand it."

"I think it suits you," she said, cupping his cheek, digging her fingers through the thick beard. "Rugged look and all, no offense to your mum."

"Really…" he hesitated. "I grew it out... because it distracts people from this…"

He pushed aside his hair and turned his head to the side, giving her a peek at the ragged scar just beneath his ear. Stretching vertically from just behind the earlobe to the base of his neck, it was more a sickly purple than red, glossy for the forced healing, and jagged from the power of the curse that put it there. Scarred, because she couldn't knit cursed skin back together without it scarring rudely like she could heal a regular wound.

"I'm sorry Ron. Curses leave scars worse than anything I've ever seen. Worse than burns even." And she knew there were a few more scars left from the curses of that Dark Witch that Susan hadn't been able to stop from scarring. Most of his wounds had been physical in nature, but those few would still remain, no matter what anyone did, herself included.

"You could uh... get a tattoo to cover it up," she suggested quietly. "That's what I did."

"I might be grumpy about it, but that isn't a comment on your healing ability, Bones. The scar doesn't bug me, it's what people say when they see it. And why do they always think it's okay to touch?"

Susan, who had her fingers curled up in his curls, withdrew her hand. She felt guilty for not asking before she touched him at all, but he stopped her hand mid air by wrapping his fingers around her wrist, then guiding her back to his cheek.

"Not you, Susie," he whispered across the pillow at her. "You can touch any part of me you want. I'm talking about complete strangers, people I've never met but they know my name, they know my face, so they think it's perfectly acceptable to be so grabby. All those years Harry would blather on about how terrible it is being famous and I never once believed him. Til now, anyway."

His hand pressed over her hand, which pressed into his beard. He continued, "Thanks for letting me come here and getting me away from it all."

"Why me?" she asked, voice a bare whisper. And when his look turned confused, she added, "Why is it alright if I touch you, when they can't? I'm as much a stranger as they are."

"You aren't a stranger, Susie, not even close," he whispered back. "Harry and my brothers carried me out of that house. My baby sister made sure that witch wouldn't ever hurt anyone again. And you made sure I would live on to tell the tale. I wasn't the only one she took, but… I was the only one that made it out alive. You're the reason why, Susie."

And then, as she held her breath, he leaned in and pressed his forehead against hers as if he didn't know how to form the words to thank her. But he had already, in fact he'd done just that the first day they spent together, flirting with her over a plate of bacon and eggs. So she leaned into him as he did to her, their foreheads pressing together, their noses lined up, and his eyes closed in pure relief.

With one hand still cupping his cheek sweetly, she brought her other hand to the opposite cheek and, watching his freckled face carefully for any discomfort, she pushed her fingers through his beard and cupped the back of his neck, her fingers in his curls, holding his head gently to her face. Her thumb brushed over the scar on his neck, making his eyes pop open.

She did it again, and again, going slower each time over the glossy mark, tracing the craggy outline. Until he let out a broken breath.

"Then she can't have you anymore," Susan said softly, meeting his hooded gaze as she slowly dipped down for a kiss. One that was nothing like their previous snogging and felt every bit like a promise.

After a tender moment, he pulled away, looking positively shocked. "Bloody hell... did you say you have a tattoo?"


	11. Chapter 11

Susan rolled away, gasping for breath as Ron did the same. It could've been a minute later. It could've been an hour. She couldn't tell. The rain outside hit the roof in sheets and made it darker outside than it normally would during the day. The fire crackled pleasantly beside them. And her and Ron had been kissing like two teenagers locked in a closet with absolutely nothing better to do.

Except before she could fully catch her breath Ron fisted the front of her sweater, which was actually his sweater, pulling her onto his lap with a swift move that would've made her gasp if he wasn't already kissing her again. She crashed into him, straddling him as he laid out across the quilt. Their lips connected and neither of them held back, tongues sliding against one another with unadorned passion. Until Susan dug her fingers through his hair as she got lost in his kiss and felt a rigid stiffness pressing into her abdomen.

"Tell me," he mumbled between kisses, his hands sure as they pressed into her back, fingers clawing into her back. "Where is it?"

"My tattoo?" she asked against his lips, feeling coy. She was drunk, on both his kisses and the way his persistent hands jerked at the knitted sweater. As if he could get it off without stopping their kiss, which they couldn't. Which he soon realized, before promptly pushing her upwards so she was sitting on his lap and going for the sweater. Presumably to get it off but she had the sneaking suspicion he enjoyed her wearing it a little too much.

She realized then that was exactly what she wanted. To be naked and bare for him with all his attention on her.

"Are you sure you want to see it?" she asked, enjoying their new position. He was hard beneath his striped pajamas, and as he pushed her up in a frantic attempt to remove her sweater, Susan managed to rub herself against his stiff erection, just once.

The move turned him still as a statue, that look of shock appearing again on his gruff face. For exactly two seconds, Susan held her breath, watching him closely, watching that shocked expression for even the tiniest sign of suffering or pain.

But there was none.

Instead, he grabbed at her hips and pulled her forward once, before pushing her over the stiffness in his soft pajama pants. Shock turned to delight and he did it again.

A million and one tingles invaded her body, making her shiver over top of him. "Oh," she bit her lip, surprised by the sound that her throat just made.

"C'mon, Susan, tell me where your tattoo is," he said, hands firm on her hips. He moved her again, this time slower, the strength of his hands pressing into her middle adding pleasure to her already tingling body. She widened her knees, sinking deeper into his lap and she couldn't believe she was a mature adult who found herself dry humping on the floor with a man. Wasn't that something teenagers did? But it felt too good to stop.

"Thinking about it," she gasped, her breaths harder to control. And this time, she didn't wait before she rocked against him. Ron's hands spasmed on her hips before falling away. He fell back onto the bed of pillows and threw an elbow over his eyes, his body shuddering beneath her.

" _Fuckinhell_ …" he groaned in a low voice, his words minced together.

Susan rolled away and laid on her side, still biting her lip. Ron's face, what she could see behind the bend in his elbows anyway, turned redder than she'd ever seen it. He resembled a large hairy radish for how red he looked and she thought the effect was crazy cute.

Though, the groaning sound he made was pure embarrassment. "I swear, that hasn't happened since I was a teenager."

Susan's cheeks were warm with pleasure and she reached out to pat his chest, to reassure him, and thought better of it. Instead she went for his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "It's alright, Ron. It was your turn, remember?"

He lifted his elbow just enough that he could peak at her from beneath his raised arm. "My turn? Look, I'm a one turn kinda guy, I can't go around wasting my turn like this. I told you once before, I used to be quite good at this whole sex bit."

"Used to?" she tried. "Or are you just on hold?"

"Er…?"

"If I took a leave from the hospital would I stop being a Healer? Or would I just be on break?" She squeezed his shoulder again and rolled out on her back.

Honestly, she felt a bit of relief for the respite. Her skin tingled from all the physical contact they engaged in, something she just wasn't used to. Sensory overload from all the touching. It happened sometimes to people who went long enough with any physical contact. It felt good. Better than good. But any more and Susan knew it would be overwhelming.

"Do you see what I'm saying?" she continued, a little breathless. "Just because you haven't done something in awhile doesn't make you inept or incapable of it. You're only a bit rusty."

Ron shifted around uncomfortably beside her, but he lowered his elbow to get a good look at her. One she tried to ignore. "You sound as if you're speaking from experience."

"As if that wasn't obvious," she bit into her lip again and realized it was because she missed him doing just that. It had been ages since she had a snog. "Yet here we are… enjoying ourselves."

Ron sat up on his elbows, staring her down. "You know what, Bones? Smug looks good on you."

She hummed in pleasure and relaxed into the pillow beneath her, resting her arms above her head. "No idea what you mean, Weasley. Let me know if you're up for another turn."

"Another turn? Bloody _hell_ …" Grumbling, Ron stood up and marched towards the master bedroom without another word.

She turned towards the fire and curled up, listening to the rain. She didn't mean to, but she fell into a small sleep. It was pouring down rain outside and it provided a soothing melody as it hit the roof. The fire was so warm, Ron's sweater so thick and comfy, that she couldn't help but fall into a light doze.

She was truly comfortable. But it was more than the physical comforts that had her feeling so steady, so content. It had been ages since she had this much social interaction that wasn't forced by her job. Interaction that she enjoyed, that soothed her. That Ron also seemed to be relaxing more and more around her felt like the biggest of compliments.

It felt like they kind of fit together. And Susan hadn't really had a friend like that in a long time. She certainly hadn't had a kissing friend in awhile.

Though she was half asleep, she heard him padding back over to their cozy corner by the fire. His steps turned quiet as he stepped over the blanket and then she felt his hand on her arm. The mere touch caused her neck to flush again. She blinked open her eyes and saw that he'd clearly dunked his head under some water and brushed his hair and beard.

"Alright, Susan," he said quietly, pulling her softly until she lay on her back. He left to clean up and returned refreshed and looking rather determined.

_Really_ determined.

He knelt to his knees, and leaned down while threading his fingers into her hair, blue eyes brighter than she'd seen them all weekend. But the biggest change she noticed was how young he looked, as if he let go of all his stress when he went to clean up, let go of everything holding him down. She hadn't realized how heavy his face had been sitting until seeing it now. Relaxed, but excited at the same time, as if he were ready. He started by pressing a slow, heated kiss against her mouth.

"Uh oh…" she whispered against his lips.

"Yep, you messed up, Ms. Bones," he told her in a low voice.

"That's-" she gasped, then regrouped. "That's _Healer_. Not Miss."

" _Healer Bones,_ " he said, correcting her title without hesitation. "Never challenge a Weasley."

"Oh?" She found her hands coming to rest against his chest and it made them both pause. "Sorry."

Quickly she pushed her hands up until they grazed against his neck and then further up, digging into his hair the same way his fingers did to her. He nodded, "Good. Now. I believe it's your turn."

"What-?!"

He crashed into her, as he did, kissing her harder than ever before, his hold turning possessive between one moment and the next. As she struggled to keep up with his fervent pace, the sheer force of him pushing her down onto the pillow, his hands came down to the hem of the maroon sweater she wore. It hit at about mid thigh. He hadn't touched her there yet and it made her tremble from the new sensations, melting underneath his attention.

"Ron-"

But he was too busy snogging the life out of her to allow Susan to form proper words. She might've thought he was a good kisser, based on their earlier sessions. Now she knew he'd been holding back _big time_. As he bruised her lips, both his hands spread out across her thighs respectively before pushing upwards, underneath the hem of her sweater, clutching at her hips greedily.

Susan was so preoccupied with kissing him back she didn't realize he managed to hook his thumbs underneath the waist of her pajamas pants until he began pushing them downwards with slow tugs. She let out a strangled cry when he bit into her lower lip once before scooting back, his eyes still on hers and his grip firm as he pulled on the flannel, removing them completely.

She didn't think anyone could make taking off a pair of polka dotted pajama pants sexy, but Ron found a way. The pants he discarded carelessly, then his fingers wrapped around her bare calf, lifting her leg up gently, and he pulled her thick wool sock off her foot in such a way that made her hold her breath. As if he were unwrapping an exciting present. His sweater hung loosely around her thighs and somehow, as he did the same to her other leg, pulling away her other sock, she felt more bare than she did earlier when her shirt had been mostly off. Her toes curled as Ron held her leg intimately, her knee slightly bent.

But then he gave her a heated look, one that said he wasn't nearly finished with her.

She didn't spot a single trace of his panic or any hesitation as she watched him. He just looked intent as he pressed one single finger to the very top of her foot. It made her entire frame shiver. Coming up on her elbows, Susan watched as he grazed down the top of her foot, down her ankle, and along the length of her leg until he stopped just at her knee.

"You know that's _my_ move?" she said, feeling a grin pop up on her face as the soft touch made her shiver again with anticipation. Her tongue came out to wet her lips as he retraced the line, dragging his finger down her leg, towards her ankle, and up along the top of her foot. Little goosebumps broke out across both her legs at his light touch.

He said, "It's a good move, I'm stealing it."

"Rude," she whispered, watching him do it again. His finger felt heavier as he traveled along her leg once more, coming to firmly rest on her knee. "Exceptionally rude behavior."

He circled the top of her knee, never looking away. "Is it rude? Or is it exceptional?"

Susan sucked in a breath. "What the hell happened when you went into the bedroom?"

Ron continued to circle her knee with a steady finger. "I told myself to stop being a ninny and for the first time, I listened."

"I told you before, you _aren't_ a ninny." Susan tried for firm, to tell him off properly, but her words came out breathy and soft.

"I know," he smirked, knowing she was putty in his hands.

She was simply delighted by all his confidence. And even more so when he leaned forward and asked, "Is it alright if I continue?"

"Yes," she consented. "I'll tell you if you do something I don't like, if you'll promise to do the same?"

"That sounds fair to me."

His confidence made her speechless but it was his hand on her knee that had her panting for breath. And she had a feeling Ron was about to do something else she would enjoy. He continued to circle her knee for another minute before his fingers dipped down the top of her thigh and slid beneath the knitted wool of her sweater.

Susan sucked in a breath as he came closer, leaning over her as he wrapped a hand around her hip. He came within kissing distance again, hovering just above her, and she was struck by how handsome he was.

She'd been getting to know him all weekend, but only now was she seeing how thick and sexy his beard really was. How sturdy his jaw seemed underneath. How kind his eyes were. How gorgeous his curls were.

But he didn't leave her any time to feel insecure in comparison. His thumb found the edge of her panties and slowly began tugging the piece of fabric downwards, an unmistakable sign of his own desire. She found her own courage and lifted up to press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Susan was rewarded instantly with Ron's smile. She braced more firmly on her elbows, lifting up just enough for him to slide her panties down over her backside. Then he pressed a hungry kiss into her lips before dropping down and kissing the spot underneath her ear, down along the top edge of the sweater just where her collarbone sat. She hummed in pleasure, elbows buckling beneath her as she laid back onto the pillow.

It happened too quickly for her to follow and suddenly he was sliding her panties all the way off her legs and tossing them elsewhere, banished just like her pajama pants. His hands each wrapped around her thighs, her knees somehow ending up over his shoulders. Susan looked down just in time to see Ron give her an even bigger, dazzling smile.

"Love my sweater on you, by the way," he said just before he dipped beneath the hem of that sweater wickedly.

His beard tickled her skin as he pressed heavy kisses along her inner right thigh. She sat up, gasping, and a little afraid of what he might do next. But his hand came up underneath the maroon sweater and pressed firmly just above her hip, pushing her until she laid back down forcefully. One hand curled tightly around her left thigh, the other held her down.

There was a second that seemed to linger, one where Susan wondered how in the world she ended up half naked, on the floor of her Scottish cabin, with Ron Weasley's head between her legs.

But then his mouth pressed over her slit, feeling hot and heavy and sexual. He lingered there long enough she worried, but then his head bobbed beneath the sweater, his tongue sliding out to explore her, and she couldn't think any more. The initial feeling made her hips jerk, but he tightened his hold and increased the pressure of his mouth, parting her intimately. The hand against her hip slid further up until he spread his fingers out over her abdomen possessively, pinning her down.

She lost herself for a moment, the physical contact startling. Her skin flushed from head to toe, her neck so hot she couldn't breathe. The sensation overwhelmed in an instant, and her vision bled into black at the edges.

"Susan? … Susie?"

She lifted her head, blinking at him sharply. Her legs had fallen to the side and he was sitting up much higher than he'd been before.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned. Somehow, somewhere, she lost a little time.

"I… what happened? Sorry… No one's ever… you know…" she panted, her skin feeling as if she were on fire. She clutched at the bottom of the sweater, which had bunched up at her waist, curling her fingers as if trying to find control.

"What? No one's ever gone down on you before?"

She shook her head, feeling lightheaded. "Are you going to stop?"

"The sound you just made… Maybe you need a minute, love?" he asked sweetly, hands squeezing her in comfort. He seemed so sure of himself, so in control.

"Don't give me time to wuss out," she warned with a grin, though her heart pounded painfully in her chest. She put her hands over her cheeks. The heat in them made her realize it was her turn to be red faced. "You did say it was my turn…"

"It _is_ your turn," he pinched her sides playfully. "So stop interrupting me."

" _I_ didn't!" she laughed, sitting up just to be close to him. "Come here."

"No, lay back, love," he insisted. "I'm not done."

To back up his words, he pushed gently against her stomach, until she complied and laid all the way back once more. Her sweater got pushed nearly all the way up until it bunched just beneath her breasts and she never felt more naked than when he leaned in and pressed a wet kiss to the spot just above her belly button. He did it again, peppering kisses across her waist to the hip bone. Then the opposite way. Some kisses were soft and close mouthed. Some were wet. But when he reached her other hip he sank teeth into her skin just hard enough to make her moan.

He traced the line where her leg met hip with his mouth and teeth, the soft bristles of his beard mixing with the little red curls on her mound. His hands came to either side of her waist and she watched as he went lower, mouth pressing against her slit for the second time. Automatically, she widened her knees, spreading her legs apart. She was, at that point, without a doubt, wetter than she'd ever been before.

"Ron," she whispered when he resumed his earlier position. One hand gripped firmly on her waist, the other reached up and pressed into her stomach. Keeping her down as he found a rhythm that made her tremble, the steady licks accompanied with nips of his teeth wherever he found a sensitive spot.

Susan flushed again, but managed to hold on to her sanity enough to enjoy the pleasure Ron was giving her but not enough to stop the little gasps coming out of her mouth without permission. His head bobbed with every lick and the visual impact was too much. She reached over her head and grabbed onto the pillow with both hands, throwing her head back on a loud, breathy moan.

He paused, and she could feel his smile before he redoubled his efforts, the tip of his tongue just brushing over her clit enough to build up pleasure, not enough to tip her over.

"Ron," she complained on a moan. "Ron…"

His hand pressed into her stomach, holding her down more firmly as his licks focused more and more on her clit with ravenous hunger. Until she was panting loudly, fingers digging into the pillow as little beads of sweat broke out on the backs of her thighs. But he kept going, drawing out her pleasure with excruciating focus, playing her body like a damn fiddle.

" _Ron_ —" she shouted, squeezing her eyes shut.

And he pressed his mouth over her clit, his teeth biting into her _hard_.

Susan twisted with the pleasure, crying out sharply. She lost a little time again, riding out the waves and trembles that rocked her body afterwards. When she opened her eyes, her breaths finally calming down, Ron laid on his side, propped up on his elbow, his knee bent casually, while he examined her legs with a curious eye. As she watched, he licked his lips almost absentmindedly, eyes dipping up and down her legs.

He noticed her watching and gave her a very satisfied grin. "How many nerves down there, Bones?" he asked, sounding beyond cocky.

"Ah uh, in the clitoris?" She cleared her throat when her voice cracked, terrified to realize she couldn't recall the answer to his question with any amount of certainty. "I dunno, a billion and one it felt like."

"Is your brain fried?"

"Yes," she answered, fingers tingling as she lifted them up and brought them to the edge of her sweater, smoothing it down as if she could smooth out her trembles. "It's been an unreasonable amount of time since I last had sex. So yes, fried brain. Exactly that."

He lifted his free hand and gently caressed her cheek, a touch that felt both intimate and overwhelming all at once. She wanted more, but knew her body couldn't handle the sensory overload after her orgasm. She was still incredibly flushed, still tingling. Reluctantly, she lifted her hand and pushed his away.

"Sorry," she explained. "I might, I just… a minute? Please?"

Thankfully, he didn't seem put out at all. He nodded encouragingly. "'Course, Susie. I'm just searching for this alleged tattoo." His eyes dipped down to her bare legs once more, searching for ink that wasn't there. "And, y'know, I'm trying to permanently burn the image of you wearing only my sweater in my mind for, well, ever."

She didn't think it possible but she flushed all over again. She pressed her fingers into her cheeks and blew out an unsteady breath. "Really? Is that something you want to remember for a long while?"

"Uh, hell yeah it is," he assured, shooting a wicked grin in her direction. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times. "Much rather that than some of the things in my head lately. Oh, sorry. I know I'm not supposed to talk about that while in bed with you."

Susan scooted up until she was sitting next to him, feeling equal parts guilty and over sensitized. She placed a hand against his jaw, fingers threading through his beard. "No, I'm sorry. You can talk to me about anything. I shouldn't have said that earlier, that you can't talk. You can."

Ron leaned his head into her touch. "Nah, Susie. It's good what you said. It's like… it's as if she isn't allowed here. Like she can't come when you're around, almost. Does that make sense?"

"Aside from the fact that she's _dead_?" she asked dryly, wishing she could learn to keep her mouth shut and quit reminding him of his trauma.

He barked out a laugh and his voice, when he spoke, turned thick. "Yeah, aside from that bit." Ron looked her over again, his eyes shining. "I'd rather remember this than any of that, for sure."

He leaned back until he was lying down, his arms crossed behind his head. Giving her the space she'd asked for. Except she was overcome with the urge to crawl over him and make sure no one would ever hurt him again. To drive away any thoughts of the witch who hurt him and drown him in the same kind of pleasure he'd given to her only moments ago.

"Are you ready to see my tattoo, Ron?"


	12. Chapter 12

Nodding slowly, Ron sat up so both his legs were on either side of her as she sat cross legged in front of him, and he took her hand in his. The feel of his fingers sliding against hers was blissful after their heated session, and Susan couldn't help but smile. The last tingles of her over-sensitivity faded leaving only a warm comfort and the hungry desire for more. She expected him to hold her hand, instead he turned her palm up and pulled her sleeve enough to examine her wrist. He put on a inquisitive look to go with his examination, holding it up to his face carefully.

"Can't seem to find this tattoo… hmm… I didn't see it on either of your legs. Not your ankles or your thighs. Not this wrist… what about the other?" he gently lowered her hand and went for the opposite one, giving it the same attention. "Nope, not here either."

Holding back giggles, Susan let him explore at his leisure, letting him be silly because silly was so much more preferable to his pain. He rolled up her sleeve curiously. " _Elbow_? No. That's ridiculous. As I suspected, no ink..."

"You're the ridiculous one," she laughed, finding that elbow to be quite ticklish.

"Well, it seems if this so called 'tattoo' exists, it must be under the shirt," he announced solemnly. "Which means, if you want to show me your tattoo, you have to take off your sweater, love."

She considered him carefully. He was definitely playing with her, no matter his forlorn tone of voice and that sad puppy dog face he was giving. "It's _your_ sweater," she reminded him, being obstinate on purpose.

"Oi! That's right. Give it back!" He playfully grabbed at her sweater, not really trying to remove it but having fun when their fingers collided as he tried to tug her a little closer.

"Ron!" she half shouted, half laughed, as he tickled her sides through the sweater. They played like that for a while, him trying to 'remove' her sweater while she 'tried' to get away from his tickling and teasing. It nearly ended when she grabbed at his right hand a little too roughly, a moment of panic appearing on his face. But she quickly declared a Thumb War and it brought out his competitive side. The urge to win stomped all over his panic.

Ultimately he won, pinning her thumb easily beneath his. "That's just unfair! Your hands are so much longer than mine, I mean, look at your metacarpals!" she shouted with a fake pout.

Somehow, she ended up sitting next to him with both her legs thrown over his lap and their Thumb War battlefield between them. He brushed his thumb over the top of hers with a slow repetitive movement that lulled her into a relaxed state. "Teach me about the bones, Bones."

"Sure," she laid her head on his shoulder and held his hand vertically, with the back of his hand towards them. His fingers wiggled unhelpfully. "Hey…"

"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. His other arm came around her back, fingers brushing over her hips. She felt entangled, but not trapped. Like they were carefully folded together and not thrown together haphazardly.

Susan cleared her throat. "Distal phalanges," she informed him, wiggling the very tip of his index finger.

"Was that French?"

Giving him a dry look, she repeated, " _Phalanges_."

"Oh that clears it right up then," he grinned.

"Middle phalanges," she continued down his finger, still holding eye contact. "Proximal phalanges…"

He leaned in and started pressing kisses against her neck, one for every bone she named. "Trapezoid… Trapezium… mmm… _Scaphoid_ …"

"Susan." Ron earlier learned how much she liked teeth, and he applied the same technique here, biting into the spot where her neck met shoulder and completely obliterating her ability to recall bones she could usually name in her sleep. "I haven't forgotten about that tattoo."

The words whispered across her skin, sending shivers everywhere. She extended her neck to give him more access, as the hand at her hip tugged on the sweater. He leaned in, rubbing his beard against her skin and making her gasp loudly.

But the real pleasure was discovering how sensitive her neck was when he sat up a little further up and began kissing just beneath her ear. His beard tickled her skin, causing goosebumps to break out across her chest and down her arms simultaneously.

"I can assure you I have a tattoo," she trailed off as her head leaned all the way back.

"Show me."

"I can also assure you that it is somewhere underneath this sweater..." she continued, forgetting about the anatomy lesson and digging her fingers into his hair. She straightened up and leaned in for a kiss, the both of them getting lost as they sank into each other. He wrapped his long arms around her waist, pulling Susan directly into his lap.

They kissed as if they hadn't anything better to do, as if they were the only two in the world. His fingers found their way underneath the sweater and began rubbing slow circles into her hips. She held onto his hair gently, not wanting to be too rough with him but making sure he knew she needed _all_ of his attention. That no one else could have it.

And he seemed to listen. There was a dragon in the loch outside. It was pouring down rain in a storm. Susan nearly drowned the day before. But Ron kissed her as if none of that mattered at all. As if he planned on doing it for a long time.

By the time she pulled away, they were both completely flushed—and not from the warmth of the fire either.

"Don't tell me you want to stop?" Ron asked in a low voice, fingers digging into skin.

Susan licked her lips. "No." And that breathy voice was back. "I want you to take off your shirt. Think you're up for that?"

He previously admitted to having a panic attack whenever his chest was touched. And earlier when the two of them were in bed together she had begun to unbutton his shirt and he asked her to go first instead, asked her to get rid of her pajama shirt before his. Things had then gotten too heated to continue afterwards, but she didn't forget his pains.

The fire sparked beside them, sending a flare into the air with a crack as the flames ate at the sweetwood. They both turned to look at the sharp noise, their momentum coming to a complete halt. She quickly returned her attention to Ron when it seemed nothing was amiss and found him frowning.

"I can do that," he answered, bringing a hesitant hand to the top button of his pajama shirt. His fingers flexed as he drew in a determined breath, but the button went untouched.

"Ron, you don't _have_ to do anything you don't want to," she reminded him quickly.

"I know," he responded immediately and loudly. The volume of his own voice seemed to startle him. He took a pause and then continued in a much quieter voice, "I know, Susie. I... might need a little help with this part."

"A little help?"

"Take my shirt off," he insisted, being rather bossy with her. But he started smiling again. "Do it for me."

Still, she hesitated. "If you aren't ready..."

" _I am_. Honestly!" And once the words were out, it seemed truer than before. As if he convinced himself of that very fact. He lifted his hands and undid it without wavering, popping the button through its respective hole with one swift jerk of his thumb. "See? Bloody hell..."

The loosened fabric revealed a small patch of freckled skin that looked no different than the skin on his arm, or face, or neck for that matter, but he sagged into the couch behind him, releasing a heavy breath as if he'd just run a marathon. It seemed he expended all his remaining energy with that one little act of undoing the top button of his shirt.

Susan took his face into her hands, tilting his head up to face her. "Are you alright?"

He nodded, eyes closed, leaning into her, letting her hold him so tenderly. "Just harder than I thought it would be. It's all mixed up in my head… it's easier when I'm focusing on you."

She brushed her thumbs over his cheeks, smoothing down his beard. "If you aren't ready, then you aren't ready. I won't push you. One word from you and we stop."

"That's the thing, I am ready," he repeated, looking up at her stubbornly. "You won't like what you see, Susie, but I am ready. I mean, I know you've seen it already. You've seen me naked and bleeding—"

"No," she snapped rather loudly, interrupting him before he could really get going. But she forced herself to speak softly once she had his attention. "I told you Ron. I don't see people by their wounds. I can't, otherwise... God, that's all I would see. I'm a Wound Maven. I get the worst of the worst physical injuries. If I only saw your wounds, I would miss everything else."

"Miss everything else? Like what?"

"Like what? Like… like that incredulous look you gave your sister when she wondered what we'd been up to this weekend. Like your steadfast passion for Creature Rights and stopping Dragon Breeding. Like how... crazy handsome you are. _And how you're always arguing with your healer!_ Do you ever notice that? Hmm?"

They were both laughing by the end, and her smile encouraged Ron. "So you're saying you don't see me as some bleeding victim. Jeez, woman, that's all you had to say." He laughed warily before continuing. "I definitely want to take my shirt off, especially if it means _you'll_ take yours off if I do, yet… here I am… back to being a ninny. Had a good run there for a bit."

Susan wondered about that, and the first thought that came to mind was simple. He didn't mind the _giving_ part of sex, likely because both times he played that role he'd been the one in charge. He was the one in control. He knew, as did she, that he wouldn't hurt her or force her into an uncomfortable situation. And rationally, hopefully, he knew she wouldn't do the same to him. But that's where the confusion came in because he could never be _certain_.

It had to be incredibly difficult for him to open up, to allow Susan to shower him with the kind of affection he'd been so generously giving her when another had callously and violently taken advantage of him. Hard to sit there and trust that she wouldn't use power, her dominant position, to make him helpless like he'd been once before.

She still cupped his face, thumbs brushing up and down his cheeks sweetly. "We're going a little fast…" she started. "Maybe we should stop and take a break?"

"No," he said, and it sounded pleading. "I can handle it, Susie, I mean it. I want you. I want to see your tattoo. I only need you to go first, if that's alright?"

Belly doing flips, she dropped her hands and sat back, putting more space between them and really accessing his words. "You must promise me you'll stop us at any point if you're uncomfortable. Don't push yourself so far I unintentionally hurt you."

Finally he seemed to understand how much it would kill her if she harmed him in any way. He brushed his fingers over the tops of her thighs and gave her that signature goofy smile.

"Listen, love, there's three things I know for certain in life. One, if you ever need an answer to anything about anything, ask Hermione. Two, always carry a bit of Bezoar stone in your pocket. And three, _you_ are incapable of standing by while another living soul is hurting. And I would be bones in a grave right now if that weren't true so don't _you_ go arguing with _me_ about it."

Susan cocked her head, feeling weirdly delighted and knowing he was absolutely right about Granger. "Are you saying you have a Bezoar on your person right at this moment?"

"Doubting me, Bones?" he smirked. Then he dug a hand into his left pocket, pulling out a dark grey stone, hardened with bits of hair and twisted into an odd round shape.

"Not anymore," she grinned. And his hands that had been slowly brushing over her thighs moved farther up and tugged at the hem of her sweater. Just once. Just enough to grab her attention.

Right. It was time to remove her top. She grabbed the hem and pulled it up and over her head. Her hair got a little caught in the neckhole but she eased the strands gently free before pulling her arms through the sleeves and setting the sweater on the ground beside them, away from the fire. Her hair slid down her back in waves of red. Then she was completely naked, sitting in Ron's lap, feeling bare but warm. He watched her, eyes big and blue and unblinking, as she lifted her left arm up and draped it over her head, giving him her left side.

What he hadn't seen when they were in bed together earlier was on her side, between her 6th and 7th rib, where there were two boldly written words, one on top of each other. Ron looked amazed and excited all at once, his finger coming up to trace the words.

"Grim Grin?"

Tingles rippled through her torso, pulsing outwards from her left side and making her tremble in his lap. " _Ron_."

"What does it mean?" he asked, voice gruff with pleasure. His fingers continued to trace the words and his thumb just brushed the side of her breast. Accidental or intentional, it made her shiver with anticipation all over again.

"Something my aunt always said," she tried to temper her rising desire, reminding herself to take it easy. "She believed in dedication and hard work above all else, even if it meant sticking on a smile and trudging through a difficult task. Getting it done and accomplishing the task was worth the grim grin. I know it's silly..."

By the end of her explanation her breaths became pants. It was difficult to sit in his lap, his warm body between her legs, with his finger writing cursive across her ribs. "That's what-" she gasped rather loudly when he switched from his finger to his thumb—a trick she bloody well taught him— "That's what got me through Healer Training."

"It's not silly," he finally said after torturing her for near a whole minute. "Sexy."

"What about you?" she asked, stomach practically trembling as she willed herself to relax.

"No, no ink for me. I'm too much of a chicken, can't take it," Ron informed her absentmindedly, continuing to trace the lines of her tattoo with both his thumb and his eyes.

"You know our generation gets less tattoos than our parent's generation did," she informed him of the useless fact, doing everything in her power to remain still.

Ron looked up at her, finger pausing against her rib, and she could've bitten her tongue. She forced a laugh. "Sorry, talking about parents isn't so sexy."

"Y'know you're kinda brilliant, Susie? But you're missing the obvious a bit," he gave her a goofy smile. "You're in my lap, completely naked, and looking sexy as hell. You could be reciting History of Magic lessons and it wouldn't turn me off anytime soon."

Laughing, Susan took a deep breath, feeling her stomach tremble again. "In that case, did you know dragon breeding was outlawed in 1709 at the Warlock's Conven—ahaha!"

She shrieked with joy, Ron's fingers finding life in tickling her sides as he pull her close, his mouth pressing wet kisses up and down her neck, dragging each one out.

She pushed against his shoulders, trying to get away from his playful tickling and hating how much she enjoyed it. He paid no mind to her sad attempts to push away, his hands smoothing down her sides as he kept on nipping kisses into her neck and along her shoulder. His hands continued downward until he cupped her bare cheeks, lifting her up before he leaned forward and sprawled her out on her back.

Ron squeezed her ass once before sliding around and coming to the tops of her thighs. He came to his knees so he could look down at her safely and once in position, his knees on either side of her hips, he brought his hands up to his second shirt button. "You watching, Susan?"

"I see you," she said in a breathy whisper, eyes unblinking as he undid the second button.

More freckles. More pale skin. And now she was starting to see a dusty red patch of hair towards the top of his chest, one that grew thicker as he undid the third. But it was the fourth button that revealed the first bit of scarring. Like a slash of silver where the skin stretched to cover the wound. Similar to the scar on his neck, this scar was shiny from the forced healing and as it streaked across his skin it interrupted the growth of his chest hair.

The fifth and sixth undone meant there was only one button left with more scars revealed, and Ron struggled with it for several seconds before he cautiously pushed it through and peeled away his shirt with a sigh of relief. A physical wound could be healed without leaving a trace of the original injury. A wound caused by a curse was different. Stubborn. It always scarred and more often than not, the pain lingered even years later.

Susan's Healer instincts said he needed to up his calorie intake, for he was still too skinny to be totally healthy. Though his stature was a far cry from the night he first came to the hospital, muscles atrophied and skin clinging to bone. She could still see a faint outline of his ribs, but there were the beginnings of healthy muscle across his torso and up to his shoulders.

"I tried shaving my chest in a fit of vanity, but it just made them look bigger," he admitted to break the silence of her examination. He spoke of the scars.

There were four big ones on his torso and a smattering of smaller ones dotted between, silvery slashes that stretched into a sickly purple at the edges. Three of them were across his abdomen. The top most one was just over his heart and stretched nearly down to the bottom of his sternum. Susan lifted a hand and pressed it directly over the glossy scar.

"So, what tattoo should I get to cover this up?" Ron asked lightly, a slight tremble beneath his skin.

"How vain are you _exactly_?" she teased, and the tremble faded away beneath her very touch. "How about a Hebridean?"

Cracking up with laughter, Ron laid down beside her, on his side, giving her full access to his chest. She rolled to her own side to mirror him and with her hand now free, Susan pressed her finger to the top tip of his top scar. "If you scale to size, the head can start here…"

She used that finger to draw a rough outline of a dragon's head, complete with very sharp, dramatic teeth. "And the body can come down this way," she continued, pushing her fingers down his chest before tracing wings that would cover the majority of his scars.

"Good thing you can't actually see what I'm drawing," she grimaced, adding a tail that definitely would've looked wonky.

"The big body could cover up this bit down here…" She drew a wide line across his trim waist, eyes darting up to check his face. He seemed completely mesmerized by her movements, eyes hooded with pleasure, so she continued drawing a dragon with her finger across his skin, moving upwards to complete an outline that covered all his scars. Then she drew a lazy circle around his belly button, a move that had him sucking in a breath.

"I think…" he swallowed, blinking rapidly as he collected his thoughts. "I think I panic about my chest because it still hurts sometimes. Like I won't be thinking about it at all, just another normal day, but then a little twinge will happen and remind me about what happened all over again. But you…"

Susan withdrew her hand and gave him her full attention.

His face and neck flushed rosy, the color spreading all the way down his chest and towards his ears. "I'm gonna repeat my earlier statement. You're the exact opposite of her. Everything she did, she did to cause maximum amounts of pain and bloat herself with power, no mind to who she hurt in the process. Everything _you_ do is to... heal. You make their pain go away. Mine especially... when you touch me, I swear it's like magic, Susie. Nothing has ever felt better than when you're touching me like that."

Whatever she expected him to say, it wasn't that. She wiped away a stray tear from her cheek and relished in the intimacy of being known. Of being important to someone else. Susan hadn't had that in a very long time, not since her Aunt passed away. And all the time since then, everyone said she was too cold, too prickly, and no one wanted to be around that.

"Aw, Susie, I'm sorry, ignore me, don't cry," Ron pleaded, coming in close and wrapping her in a hug.

"I won't," she mumbled against his shoulder, returning the hug and wrapping herself up in him without hesitating.

"Won't?"

"Ignore you," she smiled. "Why should I? You're making my pain go away too, Ron."


	13. Chapter 13

Susan wasn't in the right state of mind to notice the time. Nor the exact moment the rain stopped either. The two of them were far too preoccupied with each other to notice silly things like the sun coming out. They spent most of the day blissfully unaware of anything outside the warm fire they laid next to or the pleasure of each other's company. While cuddled up, they talked about everything and nothing, and added wood to the fire when it grew low.

They ate the remainder of the groceries she brought, feeding each other sticky fruit and the last of the granola bars before splitting the small chocolate bar Susan snuck into her bag as a treat. It was dark chocolate and orange, and Ron seemed more than happy when she fed him little pieces of it, acting as if he'd never had the taste of chocolate before in his life.

She drew little lines across his chest as they talked, brushing over his scars until they didn't remind him of the pain he suffered. Instead, she left a little bit of herself on his skin, the skin she healed, so he would only think of her. Selfishly, that's what Susan wished for. Maybe not today, or even soon, but she wanted him to think of _her_ when he thought of his wounds, think of the healing that happened to keep him alive instead of the damage that almost killed him.

In turn, Ron lazily stroked up and down her back with his fingers, sometimes dragging his fingernails along the skin and making her hum with pleasure. Sometimes he went low, squeezing her ass cheeks confidently. Sometimes he rubbed her neck until she could barely move, turned boneless by his firm touch.

And more than once they shared a kiss that always seemed better than the last. Though she was completely naked and he only wore a snug pair of pajama pants, they weren't in any rush to do more than kiss and talk. At some point Ron fell asleep with his hand buried in the strands of her hair, his fingers cupping the back of her head as he held her close. Susan didn't dare disturb him, knowing he needed his rest, and in her determination to stay quiet she fell asleep right along with him, his heartbeat in her ear.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd been that comfortable, comfortable enough to be so naked and so intimate with another.

She woke up a little bit later when the sun coming through the western window fell across her face. She was on her side, facing the hearth, with Ron curled up at her back snuggly. His arms were wrapped around her middle as he snored lightly in her ear, his chest pressing into her back. His arm was under the pillow her head rested on and his fingers were still tangled in her hair.

It was a perfect moment.

Except she had to sneeze.

The little tickle in her nose seemed rude at best, and though she tried to hold it back there was no chance. It came out quietly for her usual sneezes, but it was loud enough. Behind her, Ron jerked slightly, waking up.

"Sorry," she said, rubbing her nose and hating that she disturbed his rest.

"Mmm s'okay," he said sleepily, pulling her a little closer. Then she felt a kiss against her neck, which turned to three, and a stiffness pressing into her back when before there was none. "Sorry, I fell asleep."

She didn't blame him. It was so wonderful by the fire, the quilt soft beneath them. "It's my professional opinion you need more rest than you're currently getting, so I'm not at all upset."

"Good," he mumbled against her skin. "I wouldn't want to upset you."

The way he said it made Susan think of sweet words whispered between lovers and found herself equally as delighted to realize that's exactly what they were. Lovers. They were doing things only lovers did. Lying naked next to a fire while sharing secrets and passions and dreams. He continued to sleepily press kisses against the back of her neck, making her happy for the unintentional interruption her sneeze provided, as she quite liked the way it felt to have the back of her neck kissed.

"It's what I do when I come here. Hike to the waterfall, eat like a starved bear, sleep for two days before going back to work," she trailed off with a happy little sigh as he found a sensitive spot at the base of her neck, right over her spine. "A perfect little holiday."

And this one in particular had far exceeded all her expectations.

His arms were still wrapped around her, and his hands spread out over her stomach, one thumb just brushing the underside of her breast. In unison with his lazy kisses, the soft touch sent her into a sexual haze where all she could do was hum. Something she'd been doing a lot this weekend. His hand traveled a little higher, cupping her possessively as his mouth came to the side of her neck, pressing a hot kiss just below her ear.

"Er-how often do you come?" he asked a little obviously, whispering the words into her ear and causing several goosebumps to break out across her chest.

She knew exactly what he _meant_ , but Susan couldn't help but play with him a bit. "Not often enough…"

"Oh no!" he mocked, playfully groping her and bringing out a mirthful laugh from Susan that was less than normal.

"Twice a year. It's about the only time I get actual sleep," she laughed, squirming against him. "Well, _usually_ it's the only time I get any sleep. This weekend's an exception." She hadn't slept much at all, not that she was bothered in the least. "And like I said, you need more rest."

"Oh?" he asked, mouth close to her ear. He pressed a very hot, wet kiss against her neck as he took handfuls of her breast, making her melt beneath his hand and the rivets of pleasure that came with each touch. "Anything you recommend?"

Skin hot, she turned her neck to look up at him. His eyes sparkled blue in the firelight as he looked down at her, seeming amazed at his own confidence, and she was struck with the urge to keep teasing. "I could note you for a batch of Dreamless Sleep?"

"No," he shook his head slowly. The hand cupping her felt twice as intimate when they were looking at each other. "Can't ever sleep with those things, anyway."

She wasn't sure how talking about a potion could sound like flirting, but Ron certainly seemed to be luring her somewhere, especially with his quick fingers worrying her nipple like he was.

"You can't sleep, hmm?" she bit down on her lip as hard hitting waves of pleasure spread out through her chest, making her warm and happy. And making her want more.

"Nope," he said, sending his other hand down her stomach with a smooth motion and making her feel completely wrapped up in him.

"Have you tried regular diet and exercise?" she mumbled, trying to pay attention but achingly noticing of how good Ron was with his fingers.

He continued to look down at her, not talking, but saying volumes with that look in his eyes as his fingers slipped between her legs. Their entire day had been like one long round of foreplay after another, and a few well placed neck kisses had Susan drooling for more, but Ron's hand paused just under her stomach.

"Chamomile tea?" she tried, which was probably the wrong thing to say.

Ron's lips quirked up as her legs trembled. "Does it look like I want some chamomile tea, Susan?"

No. Not at all. In fact, he had the same smug look on his face when he dipped between her legs earlier and while that had gone rather splendidly in Susan's favor, she wasn't sure she could survive being the sole focus of his attention.

She wished she could flirt as easily as he could. She tried to think of something sexy to say about chamomile tea, to keep the flirting going. Tea since that was the thing they were speaking of, her mind running through the long list of useful properties. But she quickly realized there was nothing sexy about the herbal tea because that's exactly what it was. Herbal tea. The medicinal uses of chamomile were extensive but she didn't think Ron would care one bit about the sleep aid.

Not with the thoughts in his head, which were definitely focused on her based on the dragging motion he made with his thumb back and forth over her nipple like he hadn't anything better to do.

"God," she cried out suddenly, feeling overwhelmed. "I'm trying so hard to say something sexy right now and coming up completely blank. I never say the right thing."

Ron shrugged, giving her that goofy smile. "What about it, Susie? You say the stuff that matters."

Her mouth parted on a gasp, completely taken off guard. Was he sure about that? Her? Susan? Who could list every single bone in the body in 42 seconds flat but could barely manage a 'hello' to the lady who made her coffee every morning?

"Don't get me wrong, I'd never be unhappy with a little dirty talk," he grinned wickedly and her entire belly did a flip at the notion that possibly, in the future, there would be dirty talk. "But sometimes actions are better than words. Or, how does that saying go? They speak louder than words?"

Throat growing thick, she thought Ron had revealed something about her. Amelia had been witty, the kind of witch who always knew exactly what to say in any situation, and Susan grew up knowing she lacked whatever it was that made Amelia so damn good with the written language. Words always failed her and she usually practiced exactly what she was going to say beforehand if it was something important that needed saying. Often Susan felt like a failure for not being able to articulate exactly what she was thinking, like her Aunt could.

But maybe she didn't have to be like Amelia.

Maybe she didn't have to say anything sexy to Ron. Instead, she lifted up by bracing on her elbow, and pressed a kiss against his mouth, watching delight light up his eyes even more than the glowing firelight. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he responded by moving his hands around to her back, pulling her up so she was sitting up next to him.

"Susan?" he mumbled against her lips. "Did I say something right?"

Nodding, she swallowed back the surge of emotion she felt, mostly a raw, tender feeling she never experienced before, and said, "Stop me anytime, understand?"

Even with all these new emotions she was still brutally aware of his trauma and wanted to make it known to him with no uncertainty that he was safe with her.

But he only tugged her closer, hands spreading out over her back. "Not bloody likely."

They became a tangle of hands and greedy kisses and she didn't hold back for even a second. She showered Ron with kisses wherever she could. She used her hands to massage away any sore places and didn't despair when she found so many. She ran her fingers through his curly hair and through his messy beard. She traced his scars with her tongue and fingers. Showering him with all the affection she could. The sun went down and still, she kissed him.

Everywhere.

His face, his neck, and across his shoulders. She kissed down his arms, his hands, and each of his fingers. Until he complained and pulled her attention back to his mouth, where she kissed him until his cheeks turned rosy and flushed and he had to pull away to find his breath. Then he rolled them both over so he was on top.

"Susan," he panted, eyes hooded. "You can't…You can't just go around kissing a man like that."

She spread her legs apart to accommodate his body and brought her hands to either side of his face, holding him gently. He sank a little lower in her hold, the evidence of his arousal pressing into her bare thigh.

"Just can't do that, that kind of kiss will drive a man to do crazy things. _Crazy_. Crazy things."

He pushed hair away from her face and she caught sight of his dilated pupils. His hand cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing over her mouth like he did before their first kiss.

"Are you in shock?" she whispered, enjoying the rough sensation of his skin against her lips. Especially when he dragged at the swollen bottom lip deliberately.

He shifted up a little bit, enough that the hardness beneath his pajama pants pressed into the damp place between her legs. "Not shock," he mumbled in a deep voice. "But I might be in trouble."

Susan lifted up, holding him while she pressed kisses in a line across his scratchy cheek to his ear. "Trouble?" she whispered against his skin. "You? Couldn't be. You seem boring."

"Boring? Boring!" he laughed, giving a breathy moan as he returned the favor, roughly kissing her neck with an open mouth. His hands traveled along her arms, pushing them up and over her head as his tongue did things to her neck that made her tremble. "Do you feel _bored_ right now, Susan?"

"Oh, so terribly bored," she moaned dramatically. "Check my pulse to see just how comatose I truly am."

Grin wide, she expected him to thumb her neck or her wrist. Instead, to her delight, he spread his fingers out over her heated skin just above her breast, feeling the heavy beat of her heart while his other hand still pinned her wrists above her head.

"Can you tell how not excited I am right now?" she asked, heart rate shooting up as he made teasing, restless movements with his hips, grinding the hard ridge of his erection between her legs. His hand felt rough and heavy on her chest, his hold firm.

"Might as well be having a nap," he laughed a low, male laugh. "Am I the one disturbing your rest now?"

Susan rested her head back, sucking in a hard breath as Ron's hand boldly cupped her breast. "Disturb all you'd like, I pull all-nighters all the time."

Even she couldn't believe the words she just said, slamming a hand over her mouth at her boldness. A hand Ron apparently missed. He grabbed her around the elbow, forcing that arm back up over her head, where he pinned her wrists more securely.

He shook his head slowly back and forth. "With your brand of foreplay, Susan Bones, there is no fucking way I could last all night with you. The only reason I haven't embarrassed myself now is because you wrung me out once today already. All night? Forget about it."

She grinned so hard her cheeks hurt. "My foreplay? Give yourself a little credit, you're as good at this as I am, better even. We're both rusty, out of practice…"

"Out of practice," he agreed. "And the best way to get back into practice is to…well…practice a bit more."

"Practice is important," she nodded, suddenly out of breath. "So, so, so important."

Ron's eyes were hooded, and his arousal pressed heavily against her, but she sensed hesitation from him still. But before she could tell him they could take a break Ron continued, opening himself up and revealing another layer.

"Thing is, not that you haven't seen it, not that you'd be surprised, but there's a bit more scarring to see down there than I care to admit… A lot of scarring. _Most_ them in fact..."

"You're rambling a bit there, Ron."

"Well I figured you might want a bit of warning is all. Before you see for yourself…again...not that you haven't seen it already…"

"The situations aren't comparable," she insisted, deciding he was rambling on purpose to give them both more time before making that final step of intimacy. "The person I am when I'm at work isn't looking at your body the same as I am now."

"Yeah?" he pinned her with a hard look. "And how are you looking at my body now?"

"With…" she gulped. Appreciation. Desire. Lust. All these feelings she couldn't vocalize but wanted him to know. "Want, Ron. With want."

"Yeah? Well… you've been warned—"

Susan captured his lips once more, kissing him hard. One that was hot and all tongue and scratchy from his beard. The hand pinning her wrists flexed once before he settled the rest of his weight into her, falling into the kiss willingly.

"Did I…" she pulled away just enough to speak. "Did I say the right thing?"

"Yeah," he nodded, dragging her back into his kiss.

Which she had zero will or inclination to fight against. This kiss was far different from any of his previous kisses. There was no hesitation or reluctance in his affection, the way he moved. Susan had but a peek at this level of passion from him earlier that day, and now bore the full weight of it.

He kissed her so hard her lips would bruise, no doubt. Until her eyes closed under the onslaught of kisses and she got lost in pleasure, warm waves spreading out wherever her skin pressed into his. She felt him shift, his weight lightening only a moment as he quickly pushed down his pajama pants.

Her eyes popped open. Ron hadn't lied, and Susan vaguely recalled directing an intense amount of Healing Energy at the injuries that marred his pelvis area. The deep gashes had healed, obviously, but in their place remained wide scars that resembled the ones on his torso. A shiny, grotesque purple that resulted from the quick and forced healing.

She tugged one hand free from his grip and reached between them to wrap a hand around his cock before she lost the nerve, quickly placing kisses on his scratchy cheek.

His body turned taut beneath her hold as his head jerked up. His mouth hovered just above her ear and he whispered, "Oh bloody hell!"

The head of his cock pressed into her lower belly as she stroked him firmly, his body trembling against hers as she kissed across his cheek to his ear. "I won't hurt you."

He let forth a long row of very naughty words, bracing himself on one elbow even as he continued to pin one arm above her head. She stroked her hand up along the length of his cock, squeezing at different pressures until she found the one that made him swear the most.

"Never hurt you," she whispered against his cheek, pumping him roughly before focusing her efforts on the head of his cock.

"Oh no, no no, no _no no_ ," he roughly pushed her arm back over her head. "Keep those bloody hands up there."

"You," she had to pause to catch breath. "Didn't like it?"

"Love it, bloody hell, I love it, but I told you once today that I can't go around just wasting my turn like that and if you keep that up then that's exactly what's gonna happen. Now…"

Ron kept her pinned down with one hand, reaching down to shove her leg aside. Her knee bent upwards as he angled his hips lower, rubbing himself between her legs once. When he realized how wet and slick she was, he reached down to angle himself until the blunt tip of his cock was pushing at her entrance impatiently.

Susan had been naked, warm, and aroused _all day_. Feeling the thickness of Ron's cock push into her with a sensual slowness satisfied a deep ache she hadn't realized she'd been feeling. Her knees bent up even further, wanting to coax him deeper inside.

It was tempting to wrap her legs around his waist and demand he start moving, preferably with a rough pounding that would get them both sweaty. But she waited for him, let him set the pace, and enjoyed the pleasure of being filled up with the slowest of burns.

Ron moved slowly, pushing into her with a gentle thrust that made her moan. Until he completely filled her. He paused, hand pinning her wrists, the other pushing her knee back, bodies flush against one another as his mouth hovered just above hers. He looked into eyes, his breath coming in giant waves.

"I-" he paused, his face scrunching up slightly. A little panicked.

"Won't hurt you," she reminded him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

She kissed the other corner of his lips and felt them tilt upwards in a smile, the weight of his body relaxing fully into hers. His blue eyes flashed brilliantly.

"Susan," he whispered in that tone that made her shudder with pleasure.

And then he started moving. Slowly at first, but firm. In control. As if with every thrust he gained back a bit of himself. A bit more confidence. He pulled back then pushed in deeper, testing her limits and finding what made her moan. He did it again, gentler. Then again _rougher_ , making her gasp.

Susan couldn't form words, so she nodded, a little desperately, to show she liked what he was doing to her. The pace he set after that was rough, but trusting and freeing for the both of them.

.

Susan realized it was well after midnight the next time she woke up. Ron snoozed lightly beside her, on his stomach with his arms folded beneath his head providing a comfortable pillow. He seemed content in his sleep, and she noticed that even though she ached from their sex she felt perfectly content too.

She reached over and kissed his cheek. "Hey, Ron? I'm going to walk out to the loch to get my wand."

"Mmm'kay, say hullo to the dragon for me," he mumbled sleepily.

Delight warmed her, soul deep. She'd had such a marvelous and fun weekend with Ron, who never ceased to amaze her with his hysterical disposition. She liked knowing the Dark Witch hadn't stolen that from him, that even after all he suffered, Ron was still himself, if a little worn down.

It gave her hope, Susan realized. Hope that even after all the time she spent alone and pushing away people who might actually care for her, she could still make a friend or two. Still have someone in her life to give her a smile.

That she wasn't as Prickly as she thought.

She grinned, even knowing she was most likely only enjoying the rush of endorphins and other hormones the brain released post sexual intercourse that made the brain go 'woo-woo!'. She used the energy to clean up the cabin, to send it to sleep until her next visit. Gathering all her belongings and making sure nothing was left behind, no food stuffs to rot or any item forgotten.

Then, wrapping herself up in Ron's sweater, which she was seriously considering pilfering when he wasn't looking, she marched out through the front door armed only with Amelia's old wand. She made her way to the loch easily despite the late hour and the near pitch black of the moonless night.

She knew the path and the soft light from the wand made the journey easy. The gentle sound of the still loch lured her more than anything, until she stood at the shore and looked out over the inky water. She couldn't make out anything beneath the surface, but knew that the Hebridean lay below, protecting her eggs quietly.

She wondered if the Hebridean would be able to hear her. No doubt Ron would know how well the dragon could hear. But still, she felt the need to speak aloud her intentions. "I've come to get my wand," she firmly spoke the words. "I won't harm you or your babes."

The water remained still, so still Susan could hardly make out where the loch ended and the dark mountain sky began. But she felt as if her words had been heard. Raising Amelia's wand, Susan summoned her own from the bottom of the loch, coaxing it out gently as not to disturb the water any more than necessary.

The Ash wand came easily to her hand and Susan softly waved it through the air, back and forth for several minutes. Magic weaved gently around the loch, filling the air with a heady scent before settling into the night. It became a dance, Susan's feet over the soft sand and grass of the shore.

Until the magic ended and her wand lowered. She glanced down and saw the flash of two brilliantly purple orbs.

"No one, magical or otherwise, will come this way for at least a week," she told the loch softly.

The Hebridean and her eggs would remain safe behind Susan's wards.

.

She returned only half an hour after she left and found Ron waiting for her, packed up and using his wand to smother the fire. He came right over the moment she stepped through the door, wrapping her in a giant hug.

"Ready to go home, Bones?" he asked with a goofy grin.

"I suppose," she faked a frown. "We are a little bedraggled, aren't we?" She ran her fingers through his hair, messing it up more than it already was. He rewarded her with an even bigger smile. "How do you plan on getting me home?"

"Oh that? Easily."

He secured her bags and grabbed his own before taking her arm. She waved her wand to shut off the lights and for a brief moment caught sight of the cabin as it was most of the year.

Quiet. Asleep. Lonely.

Then Ron's hand tightened on her arm and she felt the familiar tug of Apparation. She expected it to be a series of jumps, as she wasn't aware of anyone who could travel such a distance as it was between her cabin in Scotland and her home in London. But when they landed, her gut reaction to suck in a breath of air, she looked up and spotted her front door.

"Oh!"

She was so impressed that he Apparated them over such a long distance without Splinching that she couldn't help but reach up and kiss his cheek in appreciation.

It felt natural to show him a little affection, and he liked it. She could tell.

"Thank you for bringing me home safely," she told him, cheeks pulled up in the biggest smile.

"I'm a needy man, Susie, but I'm not a jerk. Of course I brought you home safely."

"You are needy," she laughed, pulling out her key and slotting it into the space above her door knob. With the door partially open she dropped her bags just inside and turned to face Ron, wondering what would happen next. The weekend was over, fun as it was, and though the both of them were definitely feeling happy with one another, that didn't mean whatever was between them would last.

Susan leaned back against the frame of the door. "Needy in the same cute and adorable way a puppy is."

Ron leaned into her as she leaned back. "Cute and adorable? Is that why you like petting me so much, Susie?"

Lifting a single hand, she patted the top of his head, giving a poor attempt at flattening his hair. "Good boy," she cooed, which only made him laugh. Then she spent another minute running her fingers through the curls for her own gratification, enjoying the touch.

Ron came in for a kiss that was all smiles, holding her face close as if he never wanted to let go. Susan indulged in the slow kiss until he finally pulled away, moaning as if he just tasted something delicious.

"What are your plans? Next weekend?" he asked, hovering close and unable to let go.

Susan didn't want him to. Not at all. But it was well after midnight, she had to be at work early in the morning and she feared if she didn't say goodbye to Ron now, she wouldn't be saying goodbye at all. She would drag him into her bedroom and likely never make it to work.

"Back to the real world, sadly. Which involves a lot of work. And you?"

"Y'know, I might do the same, get back to work," he brushed his fingers over her cheeks just once before stepping back. "Get back to, I guess, normal."

She had one foot in the door, one out, but inside her chest her heartbeat was faster than normal. "I'm glad," she smiled. "I think that's a great idea. Back to normal for me too."

"You mean you don't go and face off with a dragon every weekend? Susie, here I thought you were a wild woman."

"Plain Jane."

She kept expecting her neighbor to poke her head out, snooping around, looking for gossip material. But it was only Ron and her in the quiet, darkened hallway.

"You are anything but plain," he told her softly, tugging at her sweater like he'd done a million times that weekend.

"Oh, here," she made to pull the sweater over her head and return the clothing item to him but he stopped her right away.

"Keep it. I'd like a reason to come around again. Show up, y'know, uninvited, early in the morning. That's not too clingy, right?"

"No, not at all." She laughed.

"Good, oh look at that, technically it is morning."

His voice sent all sorts of shivers through her body. Smoothing down the sweater as Ron took another step back, increasing the distance between them as if he too found it difficult to stay away, she thought she might have a brilliant plan.

"Thursday."

"Thursday?"

"You can come around Thursday and try to collect your sweater back." She was off that day. All day.

"Try?" Ron grinned before rushing in and crushing her with a kiss. It was quick, but it was hot. Susan felt seared to the bone after that kiss.

He released her for the final time and gave her a wave before he turned on his toe, except he couldn't seem to make himself leave. She darted forward and pulled him in for one last kiss, lingering, taking her time, but making sure he was certain to never forget it.

Afterwards, he swayed a little on his feet, a bit dazed. "Oh, Bones," he gulped. "Thursday. Thursday. _Thuuurrsday_."

He repeated the day over and over, straightening himself out. "I'll be back for my sweater, Healer Bones. Count on it." Then he finally Apparated away. She returned to her home in her own daze, locking the door without thinking much about it.

It was in a daze that she spent the next three days. She kept expecting this feeling to disappear, as if she had just a sip too much fizzy drink, but it never did. Not even when several of her co-workers commented on her high spirits, or when she gave them a rare smile that sent them all in a tizzy. What could possibly have happened to make Susan Bones of all people smile like that?!

By Wednesday the feeling hadn't let up in the slightest and she was starting to grow accustomed to the floaty sensation, as if she were walking on air. She arrived for her hospital shift at exactly 10 minutes prior to her scheduled time and noticed a group of fellow co-workers all hunched over together by the staff room door, chatting away in hushed whispers.

The moment she walked by they all straightened up and gave her a wild, and frankly bewildered look. "Healer Bones!"

"What's going on here?" she asked, resisting the urge to smile.

"Come inside!" - "Look for yourself!"

They parted just enough for her to walk through the door. And there across the room, on the wall where many patients pinned up written thank you cards or children had drawn pictures of gratitude for the treatment they received at St. Mungo's, were about a dozen new pictures. Finger paintings and thank-you notes en mass.

Susan did a double take. They were for _her_. From the Weasley's. All 100 of them it seemed.

She stepped up and looked on in awe, spotting her name written in toddler handwriting on some, and much more legible finger paint on others.

'Thank you Healer Susan!' seemed to be the majority. 'Thanks for saving my uncle Ron!' were written on a few.

But others had a drawing of a giant black dragon. Another one had a lake outlined with mountains and a waterfall. One had a round smiley face with red tentacle like squiggles Susan assumed to be red hair. But all of them delighted her to no end, and she lost count after 20 or so.

All for her.

For Susan.


End file.
